Red Sun
by Merlin71
Summary: John whumping with Sheppard and McKay Friendship.
1. Chapter 1

_This is some more SHEP WHUMPING. No spoilers I can think of. Certainly nothing for eps yet to be seen._

**RED SUN**

"What happened to Major Sheppard?" Elizabeth demanded, as she stared at the members of his team. They had just stepped through the gate, ran through really, with blasts following them. She had ordered the shield up, knowing that the major was on the other side. It twisted in her gut.

McKay answered before Ford could reply. "We were ambushed. The major told us to run for the gate while he laid cover for us. We got there, we waited for him then he radioed and ordered us through."

Ford picked up the story. "But we still waited and it's like he knew. He gave me a direct order to get everyone through the gate then we lost contact with him. We were fired upon so we dialed up and that's all I can tell you." He looked dejected.

"Thank you." Elizabeth felt shaken but she didn't let it show.

"What now?" Ford asked.

She knew he wanted back through the gate to find Sheppard. "Grodin is scanning. When it looks safe a team will go back through." Elizabeth locked eyes with Ford.

He held her gaze. "My team?"

"Your team." Elizabeth let a slight smile play on her lips. "Beckett is waiting to exam you, then I want you all to eat and get some rest. You need to be ready."

"We will be," Ford stated, determination glinting in his eyes. Then he nodded and strode off.

Teyla followed him.

Rodney remained behind.

Elizabeth studied him. "Did you want something, Rodney?"

"Do you think the major is all right?" Rodney blurted out. He looked uncomfortable and was wringing his hands as he waited for her reply.

"He will be." Elizabeth spoke firmly. She had to believe that herself. Atlantis needed John Sheppard. She needed him.

Rodney nodded. "Right...right. He will be." Still muttering to himself, Rodney headed out the door.

Elizabeth watched him go and when she was alone she buried her face in her hands and closed her eyes against the sting of tears.

John lost track of time. The last thing he remembered was being ambushed and sending his team back to the gate. He had laid cover for them, returning fire on an enemy he couldn't see. They had remained hidden, which had bothered him. And they moved fast because it wasn't long before John had been surrounded and cut off from the gate. But he wouldn't go down easy. He kept blasting away, knowing that his team would be waiting for him. So he had ordered them through the gate and he hoped they had listened. Then John had run out of ammo. The enemy had approached. Large figures cloaked in black. John had stepped out of his own hiding place only to cry out as something hit him in the back and darkness had claimed him.

He had come to awareness in this room. It was small without windows. There were no furnishings other than a bed in the corner and a table with one chair. On the table was a pitcher of water that he hadn't touched. The last time he drank he got sick. Thankfully, there was a cubby like corner with a toilet and a wash basin. John had put it to good use.

So he paced to pass the time, whatever time it was. And he scratched at his arm, trying to make an itch he couldn't reach go away. And he waited. He knew who was coming. Knew who it was who held him captive. Kolya. The man had made two appearances already. But only to talk, which had surprised John. He had expected beatings and torture, but he hadn't been touched.

As if on cue the door opened and Kolya stepped inside. He carried with him a small, silver, flask. "How are you feeling, major?" he asked as the door closed behind him.

"Good...and you?" John could be flippant as hell when he wanted to be. And he wanted to flip Kolya off the deep end. The waiting for something to happen was starting to wear John down. Clever bastard. Must have learned it in Torture 101.

"You need to drink, major." Kolya stared into the pitcher as he made to sit in the chair. "I have something you might like better." As he spoke he uncapped the flask and took a sip. Then he held it out to Sheppard.

John shook his head. He was thirsty but he didn't trust Kolya. Besides which, what he needed was water. "Pass."

Kolya sighed. "Water then?" He grabbed the pitcher, filled the glass and drank."

John watched and waited and was surprised when nothing happened. He was sure the stuff was drugged. Kolya was good. He was messing with him big time and it was working. "Huh," John commented as he shuffled forward. "So you're not trying to poison me after all."

"You're of no use to me dead, major," Kolya drawled.

"Good point." John was still suspicious of the man's intent, but he accepted the glass from him. He dumped the contents before pouring a fresh glass, then he took a careful sip. Tasted like water. Tasted more like ambrosia really, but John was cautious. He took small sips. His stomach remained calm. So he carried the glass with him as he moved back to the corner. He wanted to keep his back to the wall, literally. "So...what's the plan for today? Beatings or bamboo chutes stuffed under my fingernails.

Kolya looked amused. "I have things to attend to today, major. But we will talk again soon." He rose from the chair and made to leave.

John wasn't ready to let him go. He was tired of playing games. "What the hell do you want with me, Kolya?" he demanded. "I know you want revenge. So what's the deal? What are you waiting for?"

"I think you are too valuable to waste, Major," Kolya allowed. "Dr. Weir told me about how some of your people have the Ancient gene. Dr. McKay told me that you possess the greatest potential...so to speak."

"Which serves you no purpose," John shot back. He moved to confront Kolya only his knees buckled and he stumbled, catching himself on the table. John felt a stabbing pain in his temples and he rubbed them with his fingertips. "Without Atlantis, I'm of no value to you."

Kolya smiled, a cold curving of his thin lips. "Don't underestimate your own worth, major," he drawled. "Now I must go. We'll talk later."

John cursed as he watched him leave the room. Then he lurched over to the bed to lie down. He didn't feel sick but his head ached and he felt dizzy. And he realized he was shaking so he drew the blanket over him. Then he closed his eyes and prayed for sleep.

Rodney glared at Weir. "It's been six day! Six days!"

She looked at him, her expression neutral. "I know that, Rodney. I know how long it's been. But it's not safe for your team to go back. As soon as it is --"

"He'll be dead by then!" Rodney exploded. "We have to do something now! God...it's probably already too late!"

"Major Sheppard is a survivor!" Weir's tone was equally sharp but much quieter. "We'll get him back, Rodney. Now...don't you have something to do?"

He nodded, properly chastised, but he was still angry as he stalked out of the room.

It hurt. Everything hurt. It hurt to breathe and he was afraid to move. John knew if he moved he would cry out and his throat was already raw from screaming. He wanted this to end. He curled himself into the corner as much as he could, knees drawn up to his chin, arms wrapped around them. He felt the tremors that shook him and that hurt too. He wanted to cry but he wouldn't. He wouldn't give Kolya the satisfaction.

The door open and the sound echoed in John's head, making him wince. His eyes were closed and he kept them that way. The light in the room was too bright and made his head hurt more when his eyes were open. John had tried to break the light but they had taken the table and chair out to stop him and he couldn't move the bed over since it was attached to the wall. Even with his eyes closed the light made his head ache.

"You don't look so good, Major," Kolya purred.

John said nothing. He knew now what the torture was. Kolya had drugged him. So John had stopped drinking anything they brought him. But that didn't stop them. They strapped him down to the bed and stuck IV's in his arms. Where they had learned that from he didn't want to know. Two lines dripping into him, sending liquid agony coursing through his veins. He didn't want any more pain. He didn't want to beg.

Kolya made noise, shifting about. "I have something to stop the pain, Major," he said softly. "You have only to ask for it.

"Fuck...you." It was barely a sound and it hurt his throat, but John felt proud of himself. Until fingers gripped his hair and yanked his head back. A cry of pain lodged in his throat and he saw flashes of red lights dancing behind his eyes. Then fingers were clutching his jaw and John felt a mouth at his ear. He couldn't pull away.

"No more pain, Major," Kolya whispered. "I can make it all go away."

John heard himself whimper and he bit his lip, tasting blood. He wouldn't ask. He couldn't give in. He was stronger than this. Stronger than the pain.

Kolya's fingers gentled and he stroked Sheppard's cheek. "I'll give you a taste of it, Major. So you'll understand what I'm offering."

John felt something cold on his forearm and he flinched and tried to pull away, but Kolya's fingers gripped like steel, making his skin feel like it was on fire. Then he felt it, a pin prick and a blessed coolness seeped into John's veins. It chased away the hot pain, easing the tension that had knotted in his muscles and John felt himself relaxing. Drifting into warm darkness and he wanted to weep. But he didn't.

"No pain," Kolya whispered. "Now do you understand, Major?"

"Fuck you," John replied, and he was pleased at how much stronger his voice sounded. He thought about opening his eyes but the darkness was soothing now and he didn't want to risk losing it.

Kolya chuckled. "You had your chance, Major. Now you will have time to reconsider." Kolya shifted again then barked an order. "Put him on the bed.

John tensed, knowing what that meant. Knowing the pain would be back and he fought the hands that gripped him. But he had no strength left, even in the absence of pain. Still he struggled against the hands that held him, then strapped him down to the bed. This time he felt his ankles being restrained as well and that freaked John out all the more. He bucked his hips only to feel fingers digging into them, pressing them down and then he felt the needle slipping into his flesh and even as he took a breath, white-hot pain flared through him.

John exhaled on a scream.


	2. Chapter 2

He didn't know what was real anymore. He didn't know who the enemy was. But there was one constant, one thing he could rely on. Pain. It had become his friend. It was the only thing he could believe in. He wanted to believe in Weir and the others. Wanted to believe they had come for him but he soon realized they were only images in his fragmented dreams. Only maybe those dreams had become his reality. Maybe they were all he had left. Just quicksilver moments of silence that blanketed the screams that echoed in his head...and he wondered at how familiar they sounded...wondered if they were his screams and that was why his throat felt so raw.

Sometimes he remembered home, only it was a sharp moment of happiness that faded too soon. He hadn't been home in forever.

John would curl up in a corner and rock, humming to himself. The pain the twisted in his body played a gruesome melody that looped itself to play again and again and it became his lullaby. Sometimes he would start to pray only he couldn't remember who he was supposed to be praying too...or why. And sometimes he remembered with a clarity that was so sharp it nearly cut through the pain, but only for a moment. And then he would laugh at the devil who had invited him into hell and he would wonder why it was icy cold in hell and not red hot fire and brimstone the way he remembered from all the stories.

The devil had a face and sometimes it scared John and sometimes he would reach out and touch it and that face would smile and the laughing eyes would look through him and he wondered if he might bleed to death and sometimes that would be okay because it would be warmer in the thick slickness than it was wrapped in his wet skin.

Sometimes he wanted to sleep and to dream. Scary dreams of monsters that weren't really dreams at all. Monsters with blue skin and white hair and he knew their name but couldn't remember and he knew it was supposed to matter but most of the time he didn't care why.

Then the devil would come and visit him again and today was different than before. Today John remembered his name.

_Kolya._

Rodney stood at the gate, waiting. It had been eleven days since they left Sheppard on the planet. Eleven days. Rodney felt sick just thinking about it. He wondered if the major was alive and prayed that he would be. But would he feel abandoned by them? Rodney would have felt that way, only he knew that had their positions been reversed, Sheppard would have found a way to bring him home long before eleven days.

"Ready?" Weir asked the team.

"Ready, ma'am," Ford replied

Rodney could only nod, he couldn't meet her eyes. He knew that she cared whether Sheppard lived or died, maybe even cared too much. But she had made them wait eleven days and he wasn't ready to forgive her for that yet, even though it wasn't her fault. Not really. He just needed someone to blame and he knew that she understood.

Weir touched his arm then said to the group at large, "Be safe."

They all assured her that they would.

"Dial it up," Weir ordered.

The puddle formed and there was no hesitation. Sheppard's team stepped through.

When they were gone, Weir whispered, "Bring him home." Then she turned and walked away.

He was free.

It had been so easy. It made him feel almost giddy at how easy it had been. So easy to make the devil believe he was ready to worship him. So easy to make the tears flow down his face and his body to shake as he begged for sweet relief. The devil's hands had been almost gentle as they held him and he had choked on a laugh as he curled his fingers around warm metal. It should have been cold and unfamiliar, but it felt like a part of him, an extension of his soul. He hadn't jumped at the sound, even though it made his head hurt, pounding a staccato beat in his temples when he fired again, this time at the devil's minions. He had paused to admire the hazy scarlett petals that bloomed, like crushed red roses, on their chests, and they had fallen soft and silent as shadows so he had stepped carefully around them so as not to waken them from their sleep.

And then he was out in sunshine that was so bright he felt blinded by it, and the pain in his head was almost sweet and too familiar as he ran towards the blue sky.

He was free...but he couldn't remember how to get home.

They found him. Rodney felt light-headed with relief, but it didn't last. Sheppard wasn't...Sheppard. He was this curled up figure, huddled against a tree. He was rocking and muttering and covered in dirt and blood and Rodney was almost afraid to find out how much blood was his. And he had a gun, and Rodney held his breath when the major pointed it at Teyla, who was trying to get through to him that they were there to save him.

He didn't seem to want to listen, or maybe he couldn't hear them. He looked liked he was scared and in pain and lost and it made Rodney's eyes burn to look at him. He glanced over at Ford who just looked stunned. Rodney didn't know what to say to help, so he just stood there and watched as Teyla crept closer.

He saw her approach him slowly and she was pretty with her copper hair and soft smile. And he thought she might be real but he didn't remember what real felt like so when she tried to touch him he jerked back and raised the gun. He felt safe with it in his hand, so warm and solid even when he was shaking. "Who...who are you?" He asks but he's not sure he says it right or that it makes any sense and it hurts his throat to say it.

"I am Teyla," she replied.

"Teyla." That doesn't hurt to say. She's still smiling at him and not moving so he's not afraid of her, but he's still confused. "Do you...I can't find where it is." The pain is back and it takes him by surprise. He bites his lip, biting too hard and tastes blood and he won't cry out...he can't make a sound because that would shatter him. He curls into himself, still clutching the gun, feeling it digging into his ribs and he digs harder, wanting to create his own pain to hang on too but he can't feel anything but the pressure and the lights are too bright and they won't turn them off. "Please...please..." and it's not begging so much as asking and he feels a hand on his face and it's cool and soothing and he whimpers. But the devil is dead and the face that looms over him looks real yet faded and he finds the strength to ask, "Do you...do you know where it is? I can't...I can't..find it." And he's pleased that he could say it, that the pain can't make him break.

She's still touching his face and whispers, "I know where home is. I will take you there."

He believes her and the pain isn't gone but it fades around the edges and he wants to go home so he stands up but his legs won't hold him and he wants to cry but he can't and then hands are holding him and he doesn't care anymore. She can take him home. So he looks at the faces that are blurred yet familiar and doesn't mind that they can't be real. She said she would take him home.

Rodney felt himself shaking as he draped Sheppard's arm over his shoulder. Ford was on the other side of the major and they supported him for the walk to the gate. Rodney had an arm wrapped around Sheppard's waist and it shook him all the more to feel how thin the major was. He looked so damn fragile, as if he might break if Rodney held on too hard, but he wasn't about to let go.

So they made the trek back to the gate, stopping a few times when Sheppard would whimper and try to curl into himself and Rodney would sit there, feeling helpless, as Teyla tried to soothe the major through the pain that wracked the thin body. She said that the blood wasn't his but the Cold sweat that slicked Sheppard's skin, that didn't ease the fever, that was scary and Rodney knew that this was bad. He didn't even want to imagine what had happened. He didn't want to look at the abrasions on the major's wrists. He just prayed to himself that Sheppard was as strong as Rodney knew him to be.

Another episode passed and this time they made it to the gate. Teyla dialed it up while contacting Atlantis and telling them to have Beckett standing by. Then they were guiding the major up the ramp and he was almost walking now, and then they were through the gate and Rodney prayed they weren't too late.

He was shaking but it wasn't the pain this time. He felt a tingle deep inside, not the itch under his skin that he couldn't scratch. This felt soothing and he embraced it. Then he saw her and she looked hard and soft at the same time and he saw that she was shocked. He eyes went wide as she approached him and he wondered at the glimmer of sadness in them. He whispered softly, "Are you real?"

She nodded.

He knew he should believe her and he pulled away from the ones who held him, stumbling forward to inhale her scent and it reminded him of something but he couldn't remember and he wasn't sure it mattered. His knees buckled but he caught himself and then she was in front of him and he looked at her and wondered if he was smiling. He watched her reach out and was startled when she took his hand. As she raised it he saw it was dirty and red and she shouldn't let herself get dirty because she was always like something shiny, even though she's wasn't new. She was worn in and familiar but not exactly comfortable, and then he couldn't think about those things because he felt smooth softness under his gritty palm as she held his hand to her cheek.

"I'm real, John," she whispered.

"I'm home?" He thought he knew but he had to be sure the devil was really dead.

She nodded. "You're home."

He let darkness claim him.


	3. Chapter 3

Elizabeth felt herself shaking as she watched Beckett and his team wheel John away on a gurney. He had looked so...fragile. It broke her heart to see him like that. John Sheppard was the strongest person she knew, but now he looked broken.

"Dr. Weir?"

She turned to find Teyla watching her with concern. "Yes?"

Teyla touched her arm. "Major Sheppard will get through this. He is a strong man."

"I know." But Elizabeth liked hearing her own thoughts echoed. "What happened to him?"

"We do not know." Teyla looked unsettled. "We found him beneath a tree, out in the open. There were no structures nearby and he was not in any condition to tell us where he had been or what had happened."

Elizabeth nodded. "I guess we'll have to wait until he wakes up then." _And he will wake up_, a voice in her head whispered. Elizabeth prayed that the voice was right.

"Major Sheppard. John?"

He heard his name as if from a distance and the voice calling him was familiar, but he didn't want to leave the darkness. It was peaceful here, soft and warm. He was so tired of being cold. But he knew the warm darkness wouldn't last. Already he could feel the prickle of icy pain creeping under his skin. But maybe if he could scratch hard enough it would go away.

"Grab his hands...bloody hell!"

That same voice was sharp now, piercing his head and shattering the darkness. Then something gripped him and he fought against it. Fought against them. He knew they would hurt him, that they would bring the pain back and twist it around him like a coil of rope. He could feel it pulling tight around him, squeezing out each jagged breath.

"Major...it's Dr. Beckett! You need to calm down, laddie. You're safe now. You're home!"

He didn't believe it. This wasn't home. Home was bright and warm and full of whispers that no one else could hear. She promised he was home, but home wasn't this faded gray place where pain shimmered on the edge of his mind, grating on his skin like sand, pressing him down hard so that he couldn't breathe because he was slick with liquid fire that pulsed in his veins and he felt open and sharp. He could feel himself falling because there was nothing to hold on to anymore. He couldn't wrap himself around the pain because it drifted into mist, but he reached for it, begging for it, but it slipped away and his voice was raw like shrapnel in his ears.

"Get the restraints on him dammit!"

The devil was laughing from his grave. He screamed so he couldn't hear him.

"How is he?"

Beckett sighed and rubbed a hand over his face, wishing he didn't have to answer that question. But Dr. Weir had asked it and everyone was waiting for his answer. So he folded his hands on the conference room table and stared at the faces staring back at him. "Not good. The major is a mess. He's malnourished and dehydrated for a start. He's battling an infection and a fever and I'm not able to medicate him the way I would like."

Weir's eyebrow arched at that. "Why not?"

"He's got some drug in his system, it's saturated his bloodstream. It seems to induce hallucinations, severe ones. For the most part the major is detached from reality, at least at the moment. It also is causing him to suffer severe withdrawal." Carson sighed again. "I've had to put him in restraints. He's hurting and I don't dare give him anything."

"But you can help him...right?" Rodney interjected.

Carson shifted his gaze to McKay. "I'm trying, but I can't identify the drug so I don't know what to do for him that won't make it worse. But I will tell you this, it's going to get worse before it gets better."

Teyla looked startled, then her features settled into a grim expression. "I believe I may know what drug the major was given. It is from a bittan root. Some call it Red Sun and use it for trade. My people have no use for it. It serves no purpose but to enslave the user for life."

"What do you mean by that?" Weir prompted.

"Once a person takes the drug...you must continue to take it or you will die." Teyla's words echoed in the room.

Rodney looked horrified, then he looked at Beckett. "Surely with our medical advancements you could make an antidote or something?"

Carson shrugged. "Maybe, but I'd have to run tests and in case you haven't noticed, we don't have any of the stuff to even confirm that it is the stuff given to the major."

"I can get some for you," Teyla spoke up.

"That would help, if only to eliminate possibilities," Carson allowed.

Weir locked eyes with Teyla. "Where and how long will it take you?"

Teyla considered. "A few hours. We can step through the gate to reach the place."

"Lt. Ford, go with her," Weir ordered.

"Yes, ma'am." Ford was on his feet and heading for the door with Teyla on his heels.

Rodney was still staring at Carson. "Can I see the major?"

Carson winced at the tension he could feel rolling off of Rodney in waves. "I suppose...but he's in a bad way right now. It won't be easy on you or him."

"He'd be there for me," Rodney stated, flatly.

"Aye...that he would." Carson could not deny it. "Go ahead then." He watched Rodney barrel out of the room, then he turned to find Weir looking at him.

She turned away to ask, "Will Sheppard be alright?"

Carson wished he could give her the answer she wanted to hear. "I'll do everything I can," he promised. It was the best he could do. Carson rose to his feet and quietly left the room.

John woke to familiar voices that weren't muffled in his head. They were crisp and sharp and he could almost believe this was real.

"...Dr. Beckett said I could sit with the major so I am going to sit with him? Don't you have something to do? Like...empty bed pans or something?"

He couldn't move much, but John shifted to one side as much as the bindings on his wrists would allow and turned his head. There was thick softness padding his wrists instead of the cold bite of steel, but he was still trapped and it made him scared to believe. He closed his eyes for a moment so he could focus on the pain. It shifted over his skin and twisted in his gut, but it was familiar and it grounded him.

"You're awake."

John opened his eyes and blinked hard. He knew the face that hovered over him. The devil was dead. He thought he might have smiled.

"Do you know where you are, Major?"

He didn't answer.

"Do you know who I am?"

"Rodney." He said it clearly but choked when his throat cleared up.

Rodney looked pleased then panicked. He grabbed the glass of water on the bed table and held the straw to Sheppard's lips. "Just little sips," he ordered.

John hesitated a moment, but this was Rodney. Rodney wasn't the devil. So he took a sip and it was sweet and cool in his mouth and sliding down his throat and the pain eased back for just a moment. Far enough to tease him, not soothe him. "How...how long?" It was hard to talk and he hoped Rodney would understand. John felt the pain slipping back, blurring the sharp edges of his clarity. He knew that this reality would soon fade away and he felt a flutter of panic.

"About 34 hours," Rodney replied, glancing at his watch. "I need to let Beckett know you're awake. And Weir. Everyone really."

"Wait. Don't go." John didn't want to be alone with his thoughts. He knew they would slip away from him. He struggled to shift position, tugging on the restraints. He looked at Rodney with hope shining in his eyes. He could feel it.

Rodney shook his head. "I'm sorry...I can't, not until Beckett checks you over. It's for your own safety, Major. You understand."

He didn't but he nodded. "Okay." John managed to curl up a bit more and he felt safer.

"What happened to you?" Rodney blurted out.

"Kolya." John felt his breath catch in his throat as he whispered the name and his body went taut as he waited for the pain to rupture him from the inside out, but it was still humming on the edge of his skin, taunting him.

Rodney looked stunned. "Kolya is alive?"

John felt himself rocking, searching for that soothing lullaby that had echoed softly in his head. But it eluded him. He had to blink hard to focus back on Rodney. "I don't know," he whispered. He vaguely remembered a gun in his hand and Kolya's surprised expression, frozen in lifeless eyes. But he couldn't be sure and that scared him. "I don't remember."

"It's okay...it doesn't matter." Rodney reached out and gripped John by the shoulder. "You're safe now, Major. You're home and safe."

"Home.." John let the word slip off his tongue and listened as it echoed in his head. "How did I...I don't remember coming home." There were images that flashed in his head but they were quick-silver blinks that he couldn't quite capture and everything felt surreal. Even Rodney's hand on his shoulder. John had to look to make sure he really was touching him. He shifted about again, dislodging Rodney's hand, and the little bit of warmth that had seeped into him, leeched away. John felt tears burning in his eyes and he blinked them back. "What's wrong with me?" He remembered hands holding him and Kolya's looming face and pinpricks in his skin sending icy-heat rushing through his veins.

Rodney grabbed a stool and sat down. "You were drugged, Major. Beckett is working on a way to help you."

John felt a bubble of laughter welling up and he swallowed it down. He didn't think it was supposed to be funny but laughing was better than crying and he felt like crying right now, only he didn't know why. "...tired..." he whispered, but he didn't close his eyes. He kept them locked on Rodney's face, even when the image blurred at the edges.

"Go to sleep, you need to rest." Rodney was patting his shoulder again.

"No…you'll go away." John was tired of being alone inside his head.

Rodney offered a sad smile. "I'm not going anywhere, Major. I promise."

It wasn't a lie. John would recognize a lie. So he let his eyes drift closed and the pain tiptoed over his skin, sheathing him in its prickly heat. He wanted to scratch it away but he couldn't free his hands, but his fingers clenched, nails digging into his palms. "Please..." he didn't mean to whimper but he couldn't swallow fast enough to muffle the sound. His throat was too tight, too raw. He felt every muscle clench up as tendrils of white-hot flames burrowed into his flesh, worming their way inside him, twisting into his gut until the wrapped themselves into a knot and pulled tight.

He wouldn't scream, the devil would here him screaming.

"John?"

He peeled his eyes open, blinking back the sheen of tears. He couldn't cry either. He wouldn't stop if he did. John tried to shift closer to Rodney and he felt strong fingers grip his shoulder again, grounding him so that the pain couldn't rip him out of this reality. "...hurts...hurts..." he whispered.

Rodney's eyes went wide with panic. "Get Beckett!" he shouted to the nurse. Then both hands gripped Sheppard's shoulders. "It's going to be okay, Major. You'll be okay."

That was a lie. John recognized lies again. He bit his lip until the copper taste slicked his tongue and then fuzzy gray shadows blinded him and he couldn't see Rodney's face. John whimpered and prayed for darkness. Even if the devil was dancing there.


	4. Chapter 4

He heard voices that sounded like static in his ears and he let it soothe him. The pain was still there, shimmering at the edges of his awareness and prickling under his skin. His fingers curled with the need to scratch it away but he was still bound and couldn't reach them. John opened his eyes and blinked away the sleep-induced bleariness.

"Major."

"Rodney." John winced at the sound of his voice, a hoarse croaking that sounded as strained to the limits as he felt. He watched Rodney grab the ever present glass of water and hold the straw to his lips. John drank a few swallows and it eased the tightness a bit. "Thanks."

Rodney nodded and set the glass back. "How do you feel? You look a bit better. Sort of. You know?"

John felt like smiling as he listened to Rodney rambling. He had missed it. But he wasn't sure he remembered how to smile. "I feel...gritty." He would have said more, because he knew Rodney would understand, but Beckett and Weir appeared, forming a circle around his bed. John focused on Beckett first. "Can I shower?" John couldn't remember the last time he had felt clean. Really. clean.

"Maybe in a few," Carson allowed, and he looked a bit surprised. He then busied himself with Sheppard's vitals.

"How do you feel, John?" Elizabeth queried.

He looked at her, at the way her arms were folded over her chest and the stoic look she kept plastered on her features. She would look so much younger if she let herself relax, he thought. "I've been better," he allowed.

Carson touched his shoulder. "How is the pain?"

"Still there." John saw no reason to lie about it. He shifted but couldn't quite get comfortable with the restraints. "Can you take these off?" He asked straight out. He would beg later, if he had too.

"I guess we can for a bit, see how you do," Carson stated.

John felt relief wash over him and he was happy when Rodney was the first to start unbuckling. Once his hands were free, John rubbed at his wrists, staring at the abraded flesh. It was sore to touch but it was a good pain. Not broken and hungry and twisted. Just simple and obvious and he rubbed a little harder to stay connected to it. The other pain was creeping closer to his awareness and he knew he wasn't ready for it. "Thanks," he said, belatedly.

Elizabeth's eyes never left him. "John...can you tell us what happened?"

"Rodney didn't tell you?" John was surprised.

"He mentioned Kolya's name, that's all. He felt we should wait to ask you about it." Elizabeth moved closer to the bed as she spoke, reaching out to touch his shoulder.

He knew she could feel his tenseness. But John made himself relax before easing away from her touch. He still felt gritty and even though touch grounded him, it still hurt. His nerve endings still sparked with pain. Never going numb the way he wished they would. Realizing that everyone was waiting for a reply, John cleared his throat and tried to remember. "I got caught laying cover fire. Blacked out and woke up in a room with Kolya there. He was playing with me." John remembered that clearly, all the taunts and word games and the pain. Always the pain. "He wanted to break me."

Rodney spoke up. "But he didn't." And he looked proud of that fact.

"Maybe." John was no fool.

"Is he dead? Kolya?" Elizabeth's tone was harsh as she asked.

John knew what she wanted to hear. What she needed to hear. Kolya had left his mark on her as well. "I think so." He wanted to give her more but he was so confused about everything. About what was real and what was just wishful thinking on his part.

Rodney was watching him. "That doesn't matter, does it?" He sounded pissed.

"It matters to me," John whispered, although he realized what Rodney was trying to do. He was trying to shield him from having to remember. He would thank him for that later. But he had something else to focus on now. John turned his head to look at Beckett. "What's wrong with me?"

"Well…You know you were drugged." It was a statement, not a question.

John nodded. "I know." He remembered, all too well, being held down and the feel of pin pricks under his skin. He could feel them burning now. Itching. He scratched hard, his nails digging deep. Until a hand gripped his wrist and John looked up at Beckett. Then down at his arm, staring at the stretch of angry red skin. John took a shuddery breath and tugged his arm free. "Sorry." He buried his fingers in the blankets and curled them tight. He didn't want the restraints on again. "What did they give me?" he prompted. Maybe it would help him understand and he would begin to know what was real again.

Carson sighed and rubbed a hand over his face. "Well...it's a drug called Red Sun. You have Teyla to thank for figuring that out. And for getting us some so that I can study it."

"How long will the effects last?" John would thank Teyla, later. He had to focus on getting better first.

"That's the bad part, Major." Carson winced. "I can wean you off it to a point, but unless I can come up with a type of counter serum, you'll be stuck on the damn drug for the rest of your life. And if you don't take it...you will die."

Rodney glared at Carson. "Did you have to tell him like that?"

John looked at Rodney and was surprised by the anger that glittered in his blue eyes. Rodney was defending him. Rodney who lacked tact in all things. "It's okay." John smiled and it felt good to remember how. "I need to know."

"Carson is working on the serum, John," Elizabeth interjected.

"Of course." John gave her a bit of a smile then turned back to Beckett. "So how do we do this? I mean...the dosage and stuff. What can I expect?" He knew part of the answer. Pain. There would be lots and lots of pain.

Carson rubbed his face again. "Well...now that you're lucid I think the way to go is to give you a dosage as needed for now. You're a strong man, Major, so I think you can fight this proper. And the stronger you are the better your chances. I know it won't be easy."

John shrugged. "Nothing ever is." He felt tired suddenly and let his eyes close. "When can I go back to my room?"

"Maybe in a few days. You need to start eating and I'm still getting you hydrated." Carson touched the IV taped to the back of John's hand.

"Oh." John hadn't even realized it was there. "Okay. Can I shower now?" He could feel the pain creeping closer to the surface and he knew once it hit he would be incapacitated. Already it was getting hard to concentrate.

Carson exchanged looks with Weir and Rodney, then nodded. "Okay. You can shower. I'll take the IV out but I don't want you in there alone."

Rodney cleared his throat. "I'll stay with him." He looked at Sheppard. "If that's okay with you?"

"Sure." John didn't care who was with him at this point. But he trusted Rodney. Rodney made him feel safe. Which was absurd in some ways that John couldn't figure out. And he knew he was slipping away again and that scared him.

"I'll go then," Elizabeth stated. She squeezed John's shoulder then left.

John looked at Beckett. "Please...now?"

Carson nodded. He removed the IV then pulled back the covers. "Easy, Major...let me support you."

"Okay." John didn't argue, he couldn't. The moment his feet hit the floor his knees buckled. He let Beckett hold him up, trying not to care that he seemed to do it with such ease. Then John realized Rodney was on his other side and they made their way to the bathroom. The pain was burrowing into his gut now, creeping in slowly so he wouldn't notice. So it could surprise him. But John was ready for it. He gritted his teeth and got undressed, knowing that Rodney helped him but that was okay. Then he was under the spray of hot water, slumping against the wall as he scrubbed his body, and the soap had a rough texture that eased the itch just a bit, and John scrubbed harder, until he felt raw on the outside. But the pain burrowed deeper inside and he knew he didn't have much time. He rinsed off and thought the water off. He opened the curtain and stumbled and Rodney was there, holding him and somehow he got dry and dressed again and John didn't even remember getting back into bed.

"…starting again," Rodney said.

John knew what he meant. He listened as Rodney and Beckett continued talking but it soon became static again. He curled onto his side and heard someone whimpering. It shocked him to realize it came from him. John bit his lip to hold back the sound. But the pain was vicious this time, wanting him to scream. And John heard the devil laughing at him.

"Hold him, Rodney!"

"What are you doing?"

"I have to put the restraints back on. Bloody hell!"

John fought the hands that pressed him down into that filtered darkness. It was too bright and dirty.

"Strap him down, Rodney. Dammit!"

"I'm sorry, Major..."

John believed him. Rodney wouldn't hurt him. Rodney was real. But that reality slid away into blood-red darkness.

He didn't hear himself scream.


	5. Chapter 5

"Ready to eat, Major?"

John opened his eyes to see Beckett standing next to the bed holding out a mug of something that was steaming. He wasn't hungry but he made himself nod acquiescence, knowing that he needed to eat to get stronger. Knowing that until he could eat, Beckett wouldn't let him out of here. So he accepted the mug and just held it for a moment, letting it warm his palms.

He had been awake for almost an hour and the pain hadn't awakened him this time, and there had been dreams but no nightmares and John remembered shooting Kolya. He had awakened to find himself still restrained but Beckett had come over and released him immediately. When John mentioned needing the bathroom, Beckett had offered him a urinal but he had refused, wanting to get out of bed. Needing to be in motion. So John had allowed Beckett to help him to the bathroom. Needed his help was more like it, but he had made it back to bed on his own. Which had worn him out. But the pain was still fuzzy, not sharp and John felt stronger. He smiled at Beckett then stared at the liquid in the cup. "What is it?" It looked almost purple and thick.

"Athosian soup, more or less," Carson replied, as he pulled up the stool. "Kind of a blend of tomato soup and gravy, texture wise, but quite tasty. So drink it."

"Right." John took a sip and it wasn't half bad, even if he couldn't identify it.

Carson studied him. "Teyla said that those who are addicted to Red Sun use this broth to help them. That it seems to ease some of the symptoms."

John realized his stomach felt less queasy. The nausea had been a rather permanent fixture that he had adjusted to, but he took another sip of the broth and felt even better. "Miracle soup."

"Drink all of it and I want you to have three mugs a day, along with your other meals. Light stuff at first." Carson looked pleased. "The soup has a ton of calories which you need, Major."

"Got it." John took another sip. "So how is that serum coming?"

Carson sighed. "Not much to report...yet. I'll let you know." He touched Sheppard's arm. "I'm focused on this, Major."

John nodded, feeling touched by Beckett's sincerity. "I know you are. Thank you."

"You're welcome. Now...I want to discuss your dosage for weaning you off the drug."

"I'm all for that." John smiled then took another sip from the mug when Carson gestured to it. He heard footsteps approaching and turned his head to see Rodney striding towards him. "You look chipper," John commented, taking in McKay's crooked smile. It was good to see someone looking happy.

Rodney looked downright smug. "I just blew Kavanaugh out of the water in front of everyone!" he crowed. "And yes...I know it's petty of me, but it feels damn good."

John chuckled. "So what did you do exactly?"

"Disproved one of his pet hypothesis on wormhole logistics."

"I don't want to know," Carson interjected, smiling at Sheppard. "Do you?"

John shook his head and it felt good to smile again. "Not really."

Rodney made a face but it was obvious he wasn't offended. He looked at Sheppard. "How are you feeling? You look...better."

"I feel better." That was all John was willing to give. He could feel the pain slipping into his veins and he knew that it would soon be twisting inside him. But he didn't want to think about that now and he took another sip of the broth.

"I need to discuss a few things with the major," Carson stated. "About weaning him off the drug."

Rodney looked at Sheppard. "Mind if I hang out?"

John shrugged. "Sure you won't be bored?"

"I'm positive I will be but...I don't have anything pressing to do at the moment." Rodney's tone was sarcastic but there was a teasing glint in his eyes as he grabbed the stool and sat down next to the bed. He then focused his attention on Beckett and waved one hand. "Go ahead. We're waiting."

"Right." Carson rolled his eyes then addressed the major. "We both know the pain will be back but I want to see how well you can control it. So...let's start with identifying the various pain levels. For instance, you seem to be rather comfortable right now. On a scale of one to ten, what would consider to be the level of pain you're experiencing at this very moment?"

John could feel his forehead furrow as he considered the question. He wanted to get better so he wanted to be as exact as he could be. After a moment he replied, "Almost a five, but it's creeping up."

Rodney looked stunned. "A five? Are you serious?"

"Yes." John was surprised by Rodney's reaction and when he looked at Beckett the doctor wore the same expression. "What?"

"That's high, Major, " Carson replied. "Given your symptoms. I thought maybe you'd tell me a low 3."

John stared at the broth in his mug. He'd managed to drink most of it and it did seem to help, but the pain was getting sharper, as if anticipating he might try to stop it in some way. Finally he replied to the unasked question that hung in the air. "Compared to what it has been...this feels almost normal." It felt as if he had never been without pain blurring the edge of his consciousness.

Rodney made a sound like a sharp exhalation. Then he turned to Beckett. "Can't you give him something for the pain? I mean...even like Tylenol? Anything has got to help."

"I can't do that, Rodney." Carson looked distressed as he turned to Sheppard. "You know I would if I could. It's bad enough how it messes with your system when I have no choice but to sedate you. Which is what I'm hoping to avoid, starting today."

"Works for me," John said softly. He was tired of all the time lost. It felt as if he would never catch up and be firmly ensconced in the present. The true reality that everyone else on Atlantis inhabited.

Carson nodded and smiled. "Okay then. What I need you to do is let me know when the pain reaches level 8. And this is very _very _important, Major. I don't want you to let it go any higher before I give you a dosage. The stronger you are before I inject you, the better. You follow me?"

John did and it made sense, but he could feel the itch waking up under his skin and he wasn't sure how strong he could be. But he curved his lips into a smile and nodded. "I follow. Sounds like a plan." It was hard to make his tone light, but almost worth the effort when Beckett looked relieved. Maybe this would work out and he could get out of the infirmary soon. John wanted to get back to some semblance of normal. To at least pretend that he could be normal again.

"Good." Carson looked pleased. He leaned in and peeked in the mug. "You can finish that up," he prompted.

"Later." John made to reach out and set it on the table but Beckett scooped it away from him. "I'll be back with more in a bit. Meanwhile...since Rodney is keeping you company, I'm going to head back to the lab." With a wave of one hand, Carson was off.

The pain was seeping deeper under his skin and John twitched. He curled his fingers into fists so he wouldn't scratch at it. He knew it wouldn't help. He bit his lip and shifted against the pillows, then he realized Rodney was watching him. Intently. "I don't do tricks," John whispered.

Rodney nodded. "I know. Neither do I. Rather wish I did sometimes. I always wanted to learn how to juggle."

"That's easy." John had taught himself to do that when he was ten.

"Are you serious?" Rodney looked pleased and surprised. "You can juggle?"

John nodded. "I can teach you how...maybe later. You know?" He bit his lip as the pain spiked for a moment, like a white-hot poker stabbing into his flesh.

Rodney leaned in, eyes narrowed in concern. "You okay?"

"Was I ever?" If he could joke about it maybe it wouldn't be so real. John found himself clinging to that hope with both hands. Although in truth, the fingers of one hand were wrapped around the bedrail. John hated bedrails. They felt like a cage wall closing him in.

"How bad is it?" Rodney's voice sounded hoarse.

A tiny shrug and John was relieved when the pain shimmered down to a smooth ripple instead of the jagged wave that had almost crashed over him. But it was teasing him and he knew it. He shifted again, curling into himself a bit. Not that it helped, but he was starting to get cold again.

Rodney jumped up and yanked a blanket off a nearby bed. He draped it over Sheppard. "Better?"

"Yeah...thanks." John couldn't quite manage a smile now. "So...any other tricks you want to learn?"

"Well...there is something else I wanted to learn. When I was a kid." Rodney looked embarrassed.

John was intrigued. Enough that he was able to deflect another wave of pain and he was proud of himself. He could do this. He would do this. "What is it?" he prompted.

Rodney huffed a sigh then stared down at his hands before mumbling, "Archery."

"What?" John wasn't sure he had heard him right.

"I said I wanted to learn archery." Rodney's head shot up and his tone was a bit defiant. "You know...like Robin Hood. I kinda wanted to be Robin Hood when I was a kid."

John opened his mouth to reply but bit down on his bottom lip to hold back a whimper. He had noticed the pain slithering into his nerve endings. After a moment he released his lip, feeling where his teeth had cut through and managed to whisper, "I can teach you..."

Rodney hovered a bit, looking scared. But he cleared his throat and put on a pissy tone. "You're telling me you can shoot a bow and arrow too? Do you ride horses as well?"

"Yeah." It hurt gritting out that single, stupid, word. John closed his eyes for a moment, focusing on the pain. But it dug in deeper and he saw red. It hazed over him and should have been warm, but it was icy-cold and leeched out what little heat he had managed to wrap around himself. Even the blanket felt cold and brittle, scraping over him instead of comforting him.

"Shit!" Rodney's voice shot up an octave. "It's bad already...isn't it? Level 8."

John forced his eyes open and thought he shook his head, but maybe not because Rodney was turning away from him. "No..." John begged, only he couldn't hear himself over the roar of laughter that filled his head without warning.

Rodney ran to the doorway. "BECKETT! GET YOUR ASS IN HERE NOW!"

_No...no...no! _John screamed in his head, but the devil laughed louder and it added to the pain that throbbed a steady beat inside him. It echoed in his heartbeat and every breath felt like fire. But he could laugh back at the devil. The devil was dead and John made a sound that was little more than a whimper, but he knew what it meant and the pain shifted, caught by surprise. He had never challenged it before. So he laughed again.

Carson came running. He saw Sheppard rocking and went to him, one hand pressing to his face.

John flinched back and opened his eyes. "Not...not...yet," he pleaded. If he could win this battle he might win the war.

"Give him the damn shot already!" Rodney snarled at Beckett. "Can't you see he's in agony?"

"No..." John begged again, but the word was strangled into a moan when the pain hit him hard, punishing him for daring to defy it. John shuddered and dug his fingers into his flesh, trying to tear through the layers of flesh so he could rip out the pain but he felt bands of sharp pain grip his wrists, forcing his arms down and then a prick of pain that barely registered and John was floating in a heartbeat and it almost took his breath away because he had forgotten what pure bliss felt like. He had forgotten that there was such a thing as no pain.

"Major?"

He opened his eyes and saw Rodney and Beckett looming over him. Worry darkened their blue eyes to muted gray. "Better..." he whispered. John closed his eyes again and took a shuddery breath. He stopped shaking and every muscle ached as he stretched out, unfurling his body from the ball he had curled up into. Suddenly he felt something soft touch his face and John opened his eyes again to see Rodney holding a soft cloth. It took a moment for John to realize he had been crying. He hadn't felt the tears.

Carson pushed Rodney aside and checked the major's pulse. "How do you feel?"

"Tired." John felt himself smiling. He felt tired but alive and at peace again. It wouldn't last this sweet bliss but he didn't care. This was better than sex. Better than flying. He could fly without a plane.

"Go to sleep, Major." Carson patted his arm.

John didn't want to miss a moment of this perfect white silence, but his eyes drifted closed and he shimmered into black.


	6. Chapter 6

John felt stronger. He had slept deeply, without dreaming, and had awakened to find that the pain was little more than a tingling at the edges of his nerve endings. There but muted and nothing that he could not handle. He even had an appetite to speak of and managed to drink another mug of Athosian soup, as well as munching his way through a few slices of toast. Or what passed for toast on Atlantis.

After breakfast John was ready for a shower and to walk around a bit. Which Beckett allowed him to do. Only his legs gave out rather quickly and he was sent back to bed. But after pouting for ten minutes, Beckett revealed a secret. They had brought a wheel chair from Earth and he brought it out. John wasn't thrilled about it, but agreed to sit in it after Rodney appeared and offered to wheel him around Atlantis.

"Can we go outside?" John asked him. He wanted to feel the sun and fresh air on his face . And he wanted to see the water. He missed the water.

"Sure...outside is good." Rodney headed for the nearest balcony.

John could feel the grin that split his face as the balcony doors opened. He let Rodney push him over to the railing, then he locked the wheels himself and stood up.

Rodney looked panicked. "You're supposed to stay in the chair. Carson was very adamant about that."

"Since when do I ever do as I'm told, Rodney." John teased. He didn't care what Beckett wanted. It felt wonderful to be outside and to be on his feet. To walk to the railing and lean over it, staring at the silvery water as the warm sun touched his skin. It seeped inside him, chasing away the cold. But not the pain, John realized, for it prickled beneath his skin. It wouldn't go away so easily, but he didn't care. He felt free and alive in this moment and he embraced it.

"It's good to have you back," Rodney said quietly.

John started at his words and turned to face him. He could see the sincerity shining from Rodney's eyes. "It's good to be back." John meant it in every way. "I missed this. All of this." John gestured about, to encompass Atlantis as a whole. "I missed you too, Rodney."

Rodney made a face at him. "Yeah? Can't live without your daily dose of snarkage?"

"You keep me on my toes."

"I live for that," Rodney deadpanned. And when John laughed out loud, a smile lit up Rodney's face. But it faded fast. "Um...do you want to talk? I mean...about what happened?"

John turned back to stare out at the water. He knew what Rodney was trying to do, but he wasn't ready for this. He wasn't ready to face his demons. It was hard enough just to live with them. "I don't want to talk," he whispered. "I just want to breathe for a while." It had been so long since he could inhale a breath without his chest burning.

Rodney moved to stand beside him. "Breathing is good."

"Yeah...it is." John fell silent and he was glad when Rodney allowed it. He closed his eyes and just let himself feel and he lost track of how long he stood there. But the pain was not content to let him be free. John tried to ignore the way it slithered through his veins, leeching away the warmth from his skin, from his soul. He didn't realize how sneaky it had become until his knees buckled and strong hands caught him and suddenly he was sitting in the wheel chair and when John blinked he brought Rodney's concerned face into focus.

"One to ten?" Rodney asked, his eyes roving over Sheppard's face.

John bit his lip and had to concentrate. If he let himself breath lightly, matching the rhythm of the pain, he could make it dance to his own whim, at least for a little while. "Six...it's a six," he whispered.

Rodney stared at him then shook his head, clearly not believing him. "Time to go back."

"No!" John gripped Rodney's forearm, fingers digging into the firm flesh. The pain wasn't spiking yet, but it was cresting into a cold wave and John shivered a bit. He wasn't ready, but he had to be. He was stronger now, he could be stronger. Kolya was dead and it wasn't supposed to hurt anymore. "Please...Rodney...I want to stay here just for a little while. Please." John could beg when he had to and he was feeling desperate now.

"John...you need to be careful." Rodney's tone had an underlying current of desperation that matched Sheppard's own. "We should go back."

He knew they should but he wanted just a few more minutes to feel warm. "It's still six...Rodney. Please." All too soon the cold would chip away at him, breaking him down shattered piece by shattered piece.

Rodney nodded. "Just a minute...that's all."

"A minute is good." John managed a brittle smile. He could feel himself rocking and it soothed him, even though the pain rocked with him. "Do you miss home?" John asked the question without meaning too. But he had wondered.

"Sometimes." Rodney looked surprised but answered without hesitation. "Do you?"

John shrugged, then grimaced and wrapped his arms around himself. The pain was twisting deeper and he kept rocking. Kolya was still dead and he clung to that memory, using it to shield himself against the worst of the pain. "I don't really have a home...not on Earth."

Rodney stared at him, open-eyed. "Everyone has a home, Major. Even if it's a crappy apartment with a cat for company. I miss my cat."

"I miss my dog." John felt his lips curve into a genuine smile.

"Figured you for a dog person." Rodney smiled back.

John nodded. "Black lab. Named him Flash. I was ten." Not that he needed to be defensive about the name. His father had hated it and at the time, that had been reason enough to insist on it.

Rodney eye's narrowed as he locked them on Sheppard's face. "Dogs don't like me."

"Flash liked everyone...but he was very protective of me." The memory wrapped around John like a blanket, warming him against the icy-cold pain. But the warmth couldn't permeate deep enough. John winced as the pain spike, his fingers curling around the arms of the chair and gripping hard as he rode it out.

"It's eight now...isn't it?" Rodney was panicked. "Shit!" He grabbed for the back of the chair and turned it towards the door.

John took a shuddery breath, letting the burn drift away from him on the soft air. "Seven...just seven," he whispered.

Rodney was running now, panting already as they barreled down the corridor. He didn't speak, he just ran as if the hounds of hell were chasing them.

John let him run. He clutched the arms of the chair and closed his eyes and it was a rush to feel speed again. Nothing like flying but he remembered how it was supposed to feel and he could pretend this was it.

"CARSON!" Rodney bellowed for Beckett as he entered the infirmary and skidded to a halt, gripping Sheppard's shoulder to keep him from tipping out of the chair.

"Major." Carson was there in an instant, kneeling in front of Sheppard.

John opened his eyes. "Not yet," he said softly. "It's not…not eight…" Just a tiny lie and one he felt justified in telling. He wanted to taunt the pain, let it play with him now because soon it would be crushed to creep away, limping, into the shadows. He had earned the right to this little victory. He was finally in control. One little pinprick of heaven instead of hell, the moment he gave the word.

Carson studied Sheppard a moment then nodded. "All right then. But let's get you into bed, shall we?" He nodded at Rodney to help him.

"I can do it." John gritted out the words even as he pushed himself to his feet. But then he was tilting backwards as the chair rolled back.

"God! Sorry!" Rodney grabbed for the chair then for the major. "I forgot the brakes!"

Carson had already caught Sheppard, easing him away from the chair and towards the bed, one arm wrapped around the slender waist.

John heard the anger that Rodney was directing towards himself. "It's okay," he whispered, but he wondered if Rodney could hear him. He couldn't hear himself over the rush of white noise in his ears. The pain was angry at him, lashing out. John felt his knees buckle and silver-gray darkness hazed his vision.

"Rodney...get him into bed!" Carson shouted. He handed Sheppard over then ran for the needle he had prepared earlier.

The silver-gray turned into a white haze and John heard whispers and buzzing and then he felt a ripple of heat under his skin before a rush of soft coolness flooded his veins and it soothed away the burn, freezing it back and the white turned into bursts of purple that shaded into sky blue. John laughed softly as he listened to the pain screaming at him, until only the soft echo danced in his head and it soon faded into silence.

"How are you feeling, John?"

He turned from the railing to find Elizabeth smiling at him. "Oops. You found me."

She smiled back. "I won't tell."

"Thanks." John trusted her not to. "I feel pretty good. As in good enough to go back to work."

"I've spoken with Beckett." Elizabeth moved to stand beside him.

John figured she would have. "It's been almost a week and I've gone two days without taking any hits. Beckett says that it's clearing out of my system."

Elizabeth nodded. "Yes...but it will be a while before it's completely out of your bloodstream, John. It's not over yet."

"I know that...but I'm functional now." He didn't want to beg for this, but he knew his eyes were pleading when he looked at her. "Let me do something. I'll even settle for paper work."

"Tell you what. I'll put you on light duty but half days and Beckett keeps you closely monitored."

John felt relief wash over him. "Sounds good for me. So...what exactly does light duty entail?"

Elizabeth chuckled at his expression. "For you it means hanging out with Rodney and touching things. Think you can handle it? He has a pile of objects he needs tested."

"I dunno..." John's tone was light and teasing. Normally he hated being used as a lab rat, but for the chance to get out of the infirmary, he would be willing to do just about anything. "You don't really pay me enough to put up with McKay you know."

"I know." Elizabeth's smile was bright. "It's good to see you smile again, Major."

He nodded. "It's good to smile. You should be glad for the Ancient gene. Beckett thinks that it's the reason you're kicking the habit, so to speak."

John realized that. Teyla had found an Athosian who was addicted to Red Sun and he had been willing to come to Atlantis for testing. Beckett had discovered that John's DNA was truly able to neutralize the drug, but it was a slow process. John had never been big on patience. "I am glad...in some ways," he allowed.

"I have a meeting," Elizabeth stated. "Check in with Beckett and if he clears you...you can start your light duty servitude."

"Thanks." John gave her a mocking salute then watched her go. The moment he was alone again he rolled up his left sleeve and started scratching, digging his nails deep into his skin until he started to bleed. The pain was nothing but a shimmer on the edges of his awareness, but there was an itch inside him that he couldn't scratch. It taunted him, mocking him, and John felt anger flaring up inside him. A white-hot rage that settled over him, making him edgy and restless. It was just one more battle to be fought and won. Or so the little voice in his head whispered. And if he listened carefully, John could hear the devil laugh.

He dreamed about the room. Vivid memories and he could feel the weight of Kolya's men, pressing him down, holding him hard so that he couldn't fight against the pain. And he could feel Kolya's touch. A gentle, mocking caress on his cheek, that stung more than a slap would. And then the pain was searing into him again, slicking his skin as it burned into his veins and John came awake with a sob on his lips and he swallowed it down along with the acrid taste of bile. But his stomach twisted from the memory and he launched himself out of bed and into the bathroom, puking hard until he gagged with dry heaves.

Wearily he leaned against the wall, wiping a hand over his damp face. A hand that trembled and the itch was back and John cursed as he dug his fingernails into his skin. It wouldn't go away. So he pushed himself to his feet and stumbled into the shower. He let the flow of hot water wash away the cold sweat. Then he reached for the soap and scrubbed every inch of his body, but the itch taunted him, even when the water ran cold. John backed into the corner, sliding down to hug his updrawn knees. "No…no…no!" he whispered, over and over again. But Kolya kept laughing.

"Major?"

John jumped at the sound of Rodney's voice. He felt disoriented and it took him a moment to realize he was in Rodney's lab. "Sorry...what did you say?" He remembered Rodney had been explaining something to him, but John couldn't focus. He couldn't concentrate on anything resisting the urge to scratch away the itch. But he kept his long sleeves smoothed over his arms so no one could see the red furrows he had gouged into his flesh.

Rodney stared at Sheppard in concern. "You okay? You look tired."

"Couldn't sleep." John wouldn't deny it. He didn't want to be here today. He wanted to curl up in the corner and fade into black. A part of him wished the pain would come back because that was something he could hold on too. Something he could touch. The itch he couldn't reach and it was making him go crazy in bits in pieces. John could feel his sanity slipping away and he knew that Kolya was laughing at him from his grave.

"Why don't you go lie down. It's after midnight." Rodney looked apologetic. "Beckett would skin me alive if he knew you were still up."

John nodded. "Yeah...but I won't tell. He's like a mother hen."

Rodney shrugged. "He just wants you to be okay. You're doing so well, Major."

"Thanks." He could feel Rodney's pride in him and for some reason that hurt. John knew it shouldn't hurt but he didn't want to think about that now. "I'm...uh...I'm going to go to bed. See you tomorrow, Rodney."

"Right. I'll come get you for breakfast?"

John looked at him and Rodney was so hopeful he found himself nodding, even though the mere thought of food made him nauseous. "See you then." John smiled then headed for the door. He almost ran down the corridor and stepped into the nearest transporter. He kept his sleeve down in case he ran into someone, but his fingers were already scratching and the pain of raking over the raw skin was almost a relief.

"Please be gone...please be gone," John chanted to himself as the transporter doors opened and he headed down the darkened corridor that led to the med room. The room was small and kept at a cool temperature. It was locked by ancient technology so John was able to think it open and almost laughed at how easy it was to get inside. He thought the lights on and ran to the small cabinet in the corner. He knew that's where Beckett kept the vial of Red Sun. John had charmed the information out of one of the nurses. Emily or Amy, he couldn't remember her name at the moment.

The cabinet was made of glass panels and John spotted the vial easily. He reached for the door but frowned to see that it was locked. Beckett had brought a small padlock with him from Earth. John cursed and paced for a moment. He knew he should walk away, but he couldn't. He had to make Kolya stop laughing. Stalking back to the cabinet, he drew back his right arm then punched his hand through the glass.


	7. Chapter 7

John felt the broken shards of glass cutting into his flesh. He knew it hurt but the pain didn't register. He saw the blood slicking his skin but didn't care as he grabbed the vial of Red Sun. Pulling his hand out, John felt a shard of broken glass cut into his wrist. It burned in a way that helped him to focus. He needed a syringe. Whirling, John gazed about the room and he almost felt like weeping in relief when he spotted a container full of packaged syringes. With his other hand he grabbed one, using his teeth to rip it open. He realized he was shaking as he plunged the needle into the vial. He didn't know what dosage Beckett had been giving him and he didn't care. John filled the needle all the way, yanked it out of the vial and tapped it for air bubbles. Once it was clear of them he turned his left arm over to expose the inside veins. It was hard to hold the syringe with his blood slicked fingers but John managed. He didn't bother tapping a vein he just plunged the needle into the blue line and pressed the plunger. Before he got half of the contents in his fingers lost their grip between the way he was shaking and the slipperiness of his blood. But it didn't matter. Already John could feel a warm euphoria washing over him.

Slowly, the itch faded away and John's knees buckled, sending him down to the floor. He scooted back until he was up against the nearest wall and he laughed as the voices in his head fell silent. The fire in his veins cooled and John felt giddy. No more pain. It didn't even taunt him now. He wanted this moment to last forever. It felt like flying. He felt quicksilver and light, and the darkness that had wrapped itself around him shaded to a brilliant gold, so bright that he had to close his eyes and then he was free falling but he wasn't afraid because he knew he would never hit the ground.

"Major...bloody hell!"

He heard the voice but he didn't want to stop flying, so he didn't open his eyes.

"I need help, I'm in the meds room. STAT!"

John felt hands gripping his arm, then a pressure clamping over his wrist and suddenly the pain was back and that made him angry. It wasn't supposed to hurt anymore. He whimpered and tried to break free of the pain but it held fast. Snarling now, John lashed out with his fist and he heard a howl of pain. The pressure eased up and the pain receded and he curled into himself. He wanted to keep flying.

"Sonofabitch! I need help now!"

The pressure was back and John let his eyes slide open. He recognized the face looming over him and he laughed softly and shook his head. Not the devil, the devil didn't have blue eyes and a funny voice. But he stopped laughing when the pressure turned to pain. "No...no..." John pulled against it and was almost free when suddenly more faces loomed over him and he tried to scuttle back but the pressure held him and then more bands of pain were pushing him down, holding him fast and he couldn't fly anymore and he screamed at them until his voice was raw and scalding to his own ears.

There were voices but he couldn't make out the words and it didn't matter. The pain was back, grinding into him. Not burning this time, and he was still warm, not hot, and his blood ran cool in his veins but he felt a cool slickness on his skin then everything faded to gray, never quite shading to black. Then he felt himself rising and he laughed out loud. He was flying again. Flying…

"How is he?" Elizabeth asked the question but she wasn't the only one waiting for an answer. Rodney was hovering beside her.

Carson sighed and raised his hand to rub over his face, but stilled it when he realized it was still stained red with Sheppard's blood. "He's not good right now." Carson wasn't about to lie.

Elizabeth's expression tightened. "What happened?"

"Hell if I know." Carson moved to slump down on a nearby stool. "I found him in the meds room. He punched through the glass and injected himself with Red Sun, half a syringe full. That's about three dosages. He cut himself on the glass and sliced his wrist wide open. He's lost a lot of blood."

"He's not going to die, is he?" Rodney looked ready to pass out as he asked the question.

Carson sighed. "No...I don't think he'll die. We got to him in time and I've stitched him up. He's tripping though and it's going to be bad once he comes down. All the progress he made is for nothing now. Getting through the withdrawal this time is going to be worse than before."

Elizabeth looked shaken. "Why would he do this? I thought he was doing so well? You said the drug was nearly out of his system."

"Aye...it was. But I guess he wasn't doing as well as we thought." Carson rubbed at his eyes, not caring about his blood stained hands. They felt gritty and raw. It had been a long night.

"Is he awake?" Rodney looked hopeful.

Carson nodded. "He's awake but not really aware of his surroundings…He's trapped in his own little world at the moment."

Elizabeth rubbed at her own eyes. "How long before he comes down?"

"Hours." Carson stood up again and moved towards the door. "Both of you get some sleep. I'll let you know if anything changes."

"I want to sit with him." Rodney followed Beckett out the door. "I want to be there when he comes out of it."

Carson locked eyes with Rodney. "You've helped him a lot, Rodney. He's going to need a lot of help to get through this. It won't be easy on anyone."

Rodney nodded. "I know. But he's strong enough to do this and I'm strong enough to help him."

"This wasn't your fault." Carson could see the guilt shimmering in Rodney's eyes.

"I should have seen this coming!" Rodney's tone was sharp. "I've spent the most time with him. I thought I knew him."

Elizabeth had followed and she touched Rodney's shoulder, waiting for him to turn and face her. "I don't think anyone knows the major, Rodney. He's a very private person. He plays everything close to the vest. And whatever made him do this...I can't even imagine what kind of demons he's been fighting. The hell he's been through." She shuddered at her own words.

Rodney closed his eyes. "The hell he's still going through. That bastard, Kolya!" Anger vibrated through Rodney's voice and his fists clenched at his sides.

"What's done his done," Carson interjected. "We have to focus on the here and now. Kolya is dead. But Major Sheppard is alive and we'll all do what we can to get him through this."

"If he let's us," Rodney whispered.

Elizabeth sighed. "We won't give him a choice." She wiped her fingers over her cheeks then turned away.

But Carson saw the tears.

Rodney didn't see them. He was already gone.

John felt the pain creeping into his veins. Not burning just shimmering, nothing more than glowing embers but he knew it wouldn't take much for it to spark into agony. He shifted slightly and there was a flare of sharp pain that caught him unaware. He hissed softly and reached out to touch the pain but he couldn't reach it and his eyes flew open and he was stunned to see that his wrists were in padded restraints. And his right wrist and hand was wrapped thickly in gauze bandages and it was his wrist that hurt as he tugged at his bindings.

"Easy, Major...stop fussing now." Carson was by his side and gripping his forearms. "Don't be hurting yourself."

"Why am I here?" John's voice was gritty to his own ears and he swallowed against the dryness in his throat.

Carson looked troubled. "You don't remember what happened?"

John frowned, trying to remember and then the memory hit him like a slap in the face and he closed his eyes and tried to curl into himself. He started rocking to soothe himself. "Oh god...god...I'm sorry."

"It's going to be okay, Major." Carson reached out to squeeze his shoulder. "We're going to help you get through this."

"I made a mess," John whispered. He remembered all the shards of glass. Red-stained glass.

Carson grabbed a stool and pulled it over to the bed. He sat down and tried to make eye contact with the major. "The mess doesn't matter. Now...how are you feeling?"

John tried to focus. He closed his eyes and let himself feel the pain. It was creeping slowly inside him, whispering softly to him. He opened his eyes and asked, "How long have I been here?"

"Two days. You've been in and out of awareness." Carson grinned. "Mostly out though."

"I'm sorry." He didn't know what else to say. He wanted to explain what happened, but he couldn't explain it to himself. No one could understand what it meant to fly. Certainly not Beckett. He was afraid to fly.

Carson nodded. "What matters now is working through this. It's a definite setback and it's not going to be easy, laddie."

John knew that. Nothing was ever easy. "I know," he whispered, then he tugged on the restraints. "Can you take these off?" He made it a question but it was more a request. They were too much of a reminder of the devil and the memories were sifting through his head, taunting him.

"They stay for now," Carson stated. "And before you argue the point, let me tell you how it's going to be for now. First thing you're going to do is talk to Heightmeyer."

"No!" John was startled by the intensity of his own voice. "No shrinks!"

Carson glared at him. "You don't get a say in this, Major. You talk to Heightmeyer or you stay grounded until you do. I blame myself for not forcing this issue before."

John almost laughed as he held Beckett's gaze. "I wouldn't have talked to her before and I won't talk to her now. She can't fix what's wrong!"

"You don't know that!" Carson was almost shouting at him. Then he stopped, as if startled by his actions. He rubbed a hand over his face and sighed. "I'm sorry. I'm tired."

"My fault." John realized that Beckett was trying to help him but the man didn't understand what he was doing. What he was asking. He couldn't let anyone inside his head.

Carson stood up and pushed back the stool. "Are you hungry? You need more than the liquid diet I've got you on." He pointed to one of IV lines taped to the back of Sheppard's left hand.

John shook his head. "I'll try to eat later." He knew that if he put anything in his mouth right now he would puke it back up. The pain had slithered into his gut and was coiling around itself like a snake.

"All right. I'm going to go get Heightmeyer." Carson raised a hand to still any protests. "It's non negotiable, Major." With that he turned and walked out of the room.

When Beckett was gone, John tugged at his restraints again but they held fast. He felt a remnant of fear from when Kolya had shackled him to the cot in that cold room. But he shook off the memory, reminding himself that Kolya was dead and he was home. He was safe. John let himself sink back into the pillows but his body was taut with tension. The pain was starting to burn and it scared him because it felt so familiar. Too familiar. Almost like an old friend and he wondered if that was why he had taken the drug. Because he missed the pain. He closed his eyes and tried to remember what it had felt like before. Before Kolya had grabbed him. Before his entire world had been reduced to that small room and the cold burn of pain.

"Major?"

He opened his eyes and blinked hard, bringing Heightmeyer's pretty face into focus. It shook him a bit to realize he must have drifted off. Not sleeping so much as slipping out of conscious reality. What shook John the most was the fact that the pain was now rippling through his veins and he hadn't even noticed.

Heightmeyer moved closer to the bed. "How are you feeling, Major? Or may I call you John?"

"I don't care what you call me." His tone was sharp and he knew Heightmeyer understood why. He didn't like the way she was watching him, her eyes intent on him and missing nothing. He didn't want her to look to closely.

"This doesn't have to be difficult, John."

He hated how condescending she sounded. She was no different from any other shrink. Back on Earth he'd been forced into sessions pre and post mission. The Air Force couldn't have a suicidal pilot flying around. John knew that a couple of the shrinks he'd dealt with had wanted to lock him in a rubber room, but they hadn't been able to break him down. They couldn't prove anything was wrong with him. He wouldn't let Heightmeyer break him down either. So he locked eyes with her and whispered, "It can't be easy."

She looked startled by his words but quickly composed herself, curving her lips into a semblance of a warm smile. "Why not?" she prompted.

"Because nothing in my life is ever easy." John could be honest about that, if nothing else. He felt a cold sweat break out on his skin and he shivered. The pain was twisting inside him now, crawling under his skin. He was desperate to scratch and he tugged at the restraints, silently cursing at them. He wanted Rodney. Rodney would understand. Rodney would help him through this. "Where's McKay?" John asked. Then he cried out, a strangled sound before biting his lip to silence it. The pain was angry at him and lashing out at him. He tried to curl up on his side, to curl inward. He was so damn cold.

"John?" Heightmeyer reached out to him, concern etched in her features.

He closed his eyes, shutting out her face. "Where is...Rodney?" he gritted out between clenched teeth. He whimpered again and bit his lip so hard he tasted blood. The pain was slashing into him now, striping his flesh like barbed coils from a whip. Lash after lash until he felt himself jerk with each hit. He wanted to scream but he would not make a sound. A whimper tried to escape and John choked it down, gagging on it and he tasted bile and his stomach clenched then heaved and it felt like drowning.

"Dr. Beckett!" Heightmeyer was shouting now.

John felt something cold touch his chest as he struggled to suck air into his lungs. Then something rough brushed his face then fingers stroking his hair as he gagged again. Every breath seared his throat and he felt like he was suffocating and it didn't matter because no one could hear him scream. Only the pain was listening. Gray shadows taunted him, dancing in his head, teasing him as they shaded to black before fading back to gray. He wanted to beg for the darkness as he felt his body unfurl, shuddering open, and he felt a heavy weight pressing into him. He couldn't breathe. The pain wrapped itself around him, squeezing tight. Then everything exploded into white brightness. But it sparkled into black.

John heard the devil laugh.


	8. Chapter 8

Rodney stepped through the gate, back to Atlantis, and his first thought was to head for the infirmary to check on Sheppard. Only he was waylaid by Elizabeth. Rodney shook his head at her. "Look...Ford and Teyla can brief you on the mission. Basically it was a bust. Lots of Ancient text but no mention of a ZPM. We got nothing. I'll fill in the rest later. After I see the Major."

"I need to talk to you about him," Elizabeth countered, firmly. And she took Rodney by the arm and led him up to her office.

"Something happened," Rodney guessed, and he felt himself grow pale.

Elizabeth pushed him into a chair then perched on the corner of her desk. She locked eyes with Rodney. "Yes." She spoke softly but clearly. "The major is suffering from severe withdrawal. Convulsions and vomiting and he's drifts in and out of consciousness."

Rodney was stunned. "But...but he's going to be alright...right?"

"Carson believes this might be for the best on the one hand. John doesn't have to deal with the physical aspects of his withdrawal, at least not on a conscious level. Not yet. He's past the worst of it." Elizabeth reached out and gripped Rodney on the shoulder. "We both know how strong he is."

"We keep saying that." Rodney felt worn out and angry and scared.

Elizabeth nodded. "I know. Um...he asked for you."

Rodney stiffened. "I should have been here." He got up and headed for the door.

"He'll get through this, Rodney!" Elizabeth called after him.

Rodney didn't reply. There was nothing he could say to that. It wasn't a question, or a statement. It was just Elizabeth projecting hope. Rodney didn't believe in hope. He just kept walking.

He heard a familiar voice. There had been so many voices in his head and none of them made him feel safe or warm. He had been floating in the dark forever. Floating on a wave that was cold, so cold, and it was wrapped around him, the coldness slicking his skin and seeping inside him. Sometimes it chased away the pain, snuffing out it's glow, and he wanted the pain to come back because at least it burned and it felt warmer and familiar. But the voice was better. It pulled him out of the darkness, tugging hard but the cold tugged back, clinging to him. And the devil laughed. But then something solid touched him and he was floating anymore. He drifted down into a sliver of warmth and the devil stopped laughing.

_"Beckett!"_

_"What is it?"_

_"He's awake!"_

John blinked hard and brought two faces into focus. Rodney and Beckett. He turned his head and saw Rodney's hand on shoulder and he needed to touch it to make sure it was real, that they were real, but he couldn't move his arm. Panic flared up as his eyes slid down to the thick, padded, cuffs that circled his wrists. Kolya was dead. He was home...he was supposed to be home. Why were they doing this to him?

Rodney squeezed Sheppard's shoulder. "It's okay, Major. You're safe and in the infirmary. You know...your home away from home." As he spoke his hand slid down and began undoing the restraints.

"Don't!" Carson made to stop him.

"He's too out of it to do anything!" Rodney snapped back, glaring at Beckett. "Kolya strapped him down and doped him up. You think he doesn't remember that?"

Carson sighed and moved to the other side to free the major's other wrist. "I know," he said sadly, then he looked at Sheppard. "You know I'm just trying to keep you safe, laddie."

John heard the words and knew their meaning but they didn't matter now. He lifted his hand, but it felt so heavy and it was shaking and he was tired. Then he felt strong fingers closing over his and John lifted his eyes to see Rodney smiling at him. Almost smiling. A slight curving of the crooked mouth. John thought he smiled back as his eyes drifted closed.

Hell wasn't fire and brimstone, it was dark shadows and free falling with no one to catch him. It was voices that taunted him and pain that lashed him like a whip. It was the echo of screams in his ears and the raw ache in his throat from holding them in. And through it all John was peripherally aware of faces. Sometimes he remembered talking to them. Weir and Teyla and Ford and Rodney. Beckett seemed to always be there, if only in the background and that comforted John in a weird way. He peeled his eyes open and saw the doctor's blurry visage hovering over him.

"How do you feel, Major?" Carson queried, even as his hands worked at taking Sheppard's vitals.

"How...long?" John winced at the croaking sound that was his voice. He accepted the straw pressed to his lips and sucked down some cool water. It helped. "How long?" he asked again.

Carson set the glass on the table. "Two more days, but you've made it past the worst of it now. Are you in pain?"

John shook his head before thinking about it. "No." But his skin felt slick and his nerve endings were raw and he was gritty and achy and he looked up at Beckett hopefully. "I need a shower."

"You're gonna be weak, laddie." But even as he said it, Carson was easing back the covers. "Hope you're not too modest cause I'll be staying with you."

"I don't care if you wash me." John felt a sudden and desperate need to be clean. To wash away the tingle that was only on the surface of his skin. Maybe he could scrub it out before it permeated his flesh, digging it's way into his soul. He pushed himself up, feeling his arms tremble from the effort and when he slid his legs over the side of the bed and stood up he would have fallen had Beckett not been holding him. "Fuck!" John hated this. Hated being so weak.

Carson seemed to read his mind…"You've been immobile for almost a week, major. It's going to take time."

John knew that. Because of his need he let Beckett practically carry him into the bathroom, but it pissed him off that the man did so with such ease. He managed to get himself undressed and he made it into the shower before Beckett move to help. John let the water wash over him, let it warm him, let it wash away the layers of sweat. He reached for the soap and managed to wash himself through sheer will power, because his muscles felt like rubber and the effort to remain standing made them burn. But it was a good pain.

"Out now before you fall and give yourself a concussion," Carson ordered. And he pulled open the door and reached for Sheppard, tugging him out and wrapping him in a huge towel. He guided him to a nearby chair. "Sit while I get you some clean scrubs."

"You're awfully bossy," John teased, and it felt good to do so.

Carson glared at him, but playfully. "Comes with the territory." He started to leave then stopped to press a hand to Sheppard's forehead. "A bit warm still."

John batted his hand away. "You're going to make a good mother some day," he replied, with a straight face. Then he laughed softly when it took Beckett a moment to realize what he had said.

"I'll be back in a minute," Carson stated, as he shook a finger at the major.

"Yay," John muttered to himself, as he sagged back into the chair . He was so damn tired and he hated how weak he was. But he would work past this. He would be strong again. His eyelids felt heavy so he let them close for a moment, but blinked them back open when he heard the soft echo of laughter. The devil was laughing at him. "Fuck you!" John snarled out loud. "You're dead, Kolya! Fucking die already!"

"Major?"

He jumped at the sound of Beckett's voice. He hadn't heard him come back in. John took a deep breath to calm himself then plastered a smile on his face. "Sorry...don't mind me."

Carson nodded and held out the scrubs. "It's going to take time to heal," he said gently.

"I know." John knew that better than anyway. And he also knew that not all wounds would heal.

"I'll be outside if you need me." Carson backed out and closed the door.

John pushed to his feet, dropped the towel and got dressed. He made it out the door on his own but let Beckett support him a bit as they made the return trip to his bed. "When can I go back to my room?" John asked.

Carson made a face. "Maybe in a day or two. I need to monitor you for a bit longer. The worst is over but it's still going to be rough going, laddie."

"Yeah." John might have said more but as they reached his bed he caught sight of a figure hovering next to it. Rodney. John felt a wash of anger and it startled him. He said nothing as Beckett helped him get settled back into bed, and was distracted enough by Rodney's presence not to mind when Beckett fussed with his covers.

"I'm going to get you something to eat, Major," Carson said, as he smoothed a hand over the blankets one last time. "And you will eat."

John glanced at him and nodded. "Right." But food was the last thing on his mind. He watched Beckett leave then turned to focus all of his attention on McKay. "Rodney," John drawled. And he was surprised by how sharp his voice sounded.

Rodney stopped wringing his hands and grabbed the ever present stool. He dragged it over and sat down. "How are you feeling?"

"Better." John gritted out the word through clenched teeth. The anger was pushing up from his gut into his throat and he had to swallow back what he really wanted to say.

"I'm sorry." Rodney was watching him closely, intently.

John was surprised enough gape at him. "Sorry?" he echoed.

Rodney nodded. "For not being here. Elizabeth sent us off in search of a ZPM."

"I see." John hadn't thought about the fact that Rodney might have a reason to be gone. But that he had been gone on a mission just fueled his anger back into full flame. "Us...as in you and Ford and Teyla?"

"Yeah. Wasn't the same without you." Rodney almost managed a grin. "Ford is a pain in the ass when he's in charge. Worse than you."

John realized why he was angry now. They had gone out without him. The anger receded a bit leaving anxiety in it's place. "Did you find the ZPM?"

Rodney shook his head. "Dead end." He stared at John again, as if trying to look right through him, then he stood up and began to pace.

For a moment John simply watched him pacing then he opened his mouth to ask what was wrong only Rodney spoke first.

"Why did you do it?"

"What?" John was confused.

Rodney stopped pacing and glared at him. "You were doing so well! You were almost there! Almost back to normal!" Rodney's voice rose in volume and pitch with each statement.

John felt the itch prickling under his skin and he lifted one hand to scratch at it, absently. He didn't look at Rodney as he whispered, "You don't understand."

"Explain it to me!" Rodney grabbed John's forearm and almost shook him. "What the fuck were you thinking?"

"Leave me alone!" The anger was back and John embraced it. The itch receded back to a prickle as he glared back at Rodney.

Rodney held his ground. "That's not going to happen, Major," he snapped back. "You can't do this alone and you know it."

John shook his head. Rodney did not understand. None of them did. There was nothing they could do to help him. "I'm tired."

"I know you are." Rodney's tone was sympathetic, but the words were still tight. "But this isn't going to go away just because you don't want to deal with it."

"No kidding!" John could be just as sarcastic as McKay when he wanted to be.

Rodney dropped back down onto the stool. "No time like the present to get back on track, Major. So talk to me."

John felt a throbbing in his temples and he rubbed them with his fingertips. "I'm not going to do this now," he ground out.

"Yeah, you are." Rodney looked grim. "Heightmeyer will be here any minute. Didn't Beckett mention that?"

"No…he didn't." And that made the anger flare up again and John clenched the sheets in both hands. He wanted everyone to leave him the fuck alone. "I won't talk to her!"

Rodney sighed. "You don't have a choice."

John glared at him, even though it wasn't really Rodney he was mad at. But he made a good target for the moment. "Like hell I don't!"

"Don't you want to get better?" Rodney fired the question at Sheppard like a bullet from a gun.

"She can't help me!" John wanted Rodney to understand that. Rodney was smart. He should understand. The itch was back, burning as it seeped under his skin. John shook with the effort it took not to dig his nails into his flesh.

Rodney reached out and tapped Sheppard on the shoulder, waiting until he looked at him to speak. "She helped me," he said softly.

John closed his eyes. "I'm not you." He wasn't sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing. The itch was spreading now, slithering into his belly and John curled up into himself.

"Don't you want to get better, Major?" Rodney waited for a reply but when none was forthcoming he said, "I want you to get better. I want you to go back out through the gate. Where you belong. Because you don't belong here, Major."

"Yeah." John wanted to believe that. But it was hard to think now. He felt a cold sweat slick his skin then Rodney's hand was in his hair, smoothing over it to soothe him. But his body felt raw and open and John flinched away. He tried to focus. "I miss it..." He missed flying too.

Rodney started to speak then stopped.

John heard footsteps and opened his eyes. He saw Heightmeyer walking towards him. He wasn't ready for this. He listened to the devil laugh.


	9. Chapter 9

John closed his eyes but knew the moment Heightmeyer was standing next to the bed. He opened his eyes and, ignoring the pain the sizzled in his veins, he unfurled his body, stretching out on his back. The itch niggled under his skin, taunting him, and John crossed his arms over his chest, refusing to give in to the temptation to scratch. Forcing his lips to form a parody of a smile, John locked eyes with Heightmeyer.

She stared back, just looking him over for a moment. "How is the pain?"

"It's there." John drawled. He knew the game she intended to play with him, but he was a master and she would never win.

"Can you excuse us, Dr. McKay?" Heightmeyer asked, politely enough. But her tone was dismissive.

Rodney looked at Sheppard for a moment then nodded. "I'll come back later, Major," he said, then he was gone.

John hated the way he felt in this moment. Rodney's leaving felt like a betrayal. Rodney was supposed to know everything, why didn't he know how stupid this was? How useless? Talking wouldn't help. It couldn't help him. But John shoved those feelings aside and focused on the pain. No longer taunting him, it had dug in deep, clawing at him. His skin was like a tender scab and the pain was picking it away, exposing him like a ragged wound. Raw and open and bleeding. John felt a shudder run though him and he broke out into a cold sweat. "This is a waste of your time and mine," John gritted out.

"It doesn't have to be," Heightmeyer countered. "I want to help you, Major. That's all any of us want. To help you."

"Wish you could." John bit his lip just short of drawing blood. "I've seen a few shrinks in my time." He knew she knew that but he wanted to put all the cards on the table.

Heightmeyer grabbed the stool and sat down. "I've read your file. Makes for interesting reading, actually."

John snorted at that and felt a buzzing in his ears. The pain was laughing at him now. He tuned it out. "So I've been told," he whispered then he cleared his throat and stated, "I have nothing to say to you. That's the bottom line."

"Are you giving up?"

"I'm tired." John would give nothing away.

Heightmeyer nodded. "I know you are. But you're a strong man, Major. Strong enough to beat this."

John almost laughed at that. She knew nothing about him. But instead of replying, he closed his eyes. He listened as she asked a few questions but after a time he heard nothing but whispers from voices that danced in his head. There was nothing but pain only it was different this time. Not as focused. Not as sharp. It burned but was fading away, leaving behind the itch. He wanted so badly to scratch it.

"Major? John?"

He didn't respond but he did open his eyes and was surprised to see Elizabeth's blurred image hovering over him. John didn't remember Heightmeyer leaving. He blinked hard and Elizabeth's face came into focus. "Where..." John croaked, his voice tight and hoarse.

Elizabeth reached for the glass of water on the nightstand and guided the straw to Sheppard's lips. Once he took a few sips she set it back down then she locked eyes with him. "We need to talk."

"Yeah...we do." John shifted and sat up against the pillows, one hand lifting to rake his fingers through his hair. The pain was gone but the itch shimmered just below his skin. He lowered his hand and scratched softly, just on the inside of his arm. An idle action but he watched Elizabeth watching him and stopped. "I want out of here."

"That's not an option at the moment, Major." Elizabeth turned away in search of the stool. She grabbed it, brought it over to the bed and sat down.

John didn't want to do this, but he knew Elizabeth. She could out stubborn a mule. So he would listen to her talk and then they would negotiate. That's what she did. Negotiated terms. That's how they played the game. "So what are my options?"

Elizabeth sighed. "You have to talk to Heightmeyer."

"Option two?" John prompted. He realized that Elizabeth looked tired and worn out. He wondered how much of that was his fault, and he felt a flicker of guilt.

"You remain grounded permanently," Elizabeth shot back.

John glared at her. "Not an option!" He couldn't believe she had even said that to him. Soft laughter echoed in his head and John pressed his hands over his ears. Kolya was dead but the fucker kept haunting him. He was so tired of this. Tired of everything.

Elizabeth reached out to touch Sheppard's arm, pulling back when he jerked away. "Then we're back to Heightmeyer," she stated.

"No!" John would not look at Elizabeth as he shook his head. He didn't want to see disappointment glimmering in her eyes. But she didn't understand what she was asking of him. And John wasn't sure how to make her understand. He couldn't tell anyone about the demons in his head. About the things he had seen, the things he had done. They weren't supposed to know.

"You have to talk to Heightmeyer if you want to get your life back, Major." Elizabeth's voice was clear and firm, but there was a ragged edge to it that revealed her frustration. "I need you, John. Atlantis needs you."

He realized he was scratching again and dropped his hands to the blankets, clutching them tightly. The itch was taunting him again. Nibbling in places, biting in others, then slipping away to find another spot. He shifted his body, trying to ease the ache of muscle stretched taut by the anger he was trying so hard to control. He couldn't let it out, not now. Not at Elizabeth. He looked at her and whispered, "I don't need a shrink."

She looked defeated. "You can't do this alone...and you don't have too. We all want to help you, John. Why won't you let us?"

He didn't have the answer she wanted so he said nothing. The silence that fell between them felt heavy and uncomfortable and John shifted again, this time turning away from her, making it a not so subtle hint that he wanted to be alone. He closed his eyes and counted the seconds. Twenty-seven of them before he heard the scraping of the stool and sound of her receding footsteps. His fingers unclenched from the fists he had curled them in to. The back of his left hand itched and he scratched at it and was surprised to find tape and tubing. John hadn't realized that Beckett had put his IV back in. He wondered how much time he had lost yet again.

Footsteps sounded and John turned his head, half expecting to see Elizabeth back with Heightmeyer in tow, but it was a pretty nurse who approached him. She had a tray of food and she was smiling. John made the effort to smile back, but it cost him. He felt the tremors that shook him.

"Dr. Beckett asked me to bring you supper, Major," said the nurse, as she set the tray down on the bedstand beside him. "Can you reach it okay or should I get the tray table?"

"It's fine where it is," John assured her. He didn't plan on touching it anyway.

She nodded. "Can I get you anything?"

John shook his head. Anything he wanted she could not give him. "I'm good." He watched her smile again and wondered if his smile was still in place. He touched his face and his lips were still curved but he let the smile fade away. His fingertips felt numb as he let them drift down his arm before digging into the reddened flesh. John let his fingernails scrape hard but it brought no relief. He closed his eyes against the sting of tears and felt himself rocking.

"Major?"

He went still as he recognized Ford's voice. John blinked hard then slowly opened his eyes. Not surprisingly, Teyla was with the lieutenant. John mustered up a smile again and it was easier this time. He was glad to see them. "Ford...Teyla…good to see you."

Teyla moved closer. "It is good to see you as well, Major. How are you feeling?"

"I've been better." John had learned, a long time ago, that it was impossible to lie to Teyla and get away with it. So he always told her the truth, or at least a version of it that would pass muster.

"Is there anything I can get for you?" Teyla queried. "Anything that you need?"

John shook his head. He was tired of people asking him that. It was an empty question. They could not understand what it was he needed. "I'm good, Teyla. But thank you." John managed to keep his voice soft and level. He kept his hands at his sides as well, fingers clutching the blankets again.

Ford moved to stand beside Teyla. "I've got a stash of chocolate, sir. Once you're feeling better I'll smuggle some into you."

"Thanks." John meant it. He knew that Ford meant well, and he was grateful that the kid wasn't trying to be helpful in the way everyone else was. Ford was just...Ford. "I hope I'm not in here for much longer." That was a truth he hadn't meant to reveal, and John was surprised at himself.

"You must take the time needed to heal, Major," Teyla interjected softly.

He had to bite back the hot retort on his lips, tempering it a bit with a tight reply. "I'm not wounded, Teyla."

She reached out to touch his face, palm pressing briefly against his cheek. "You are wounded deep inside. But you will be strong again."

"Yeah." John turned his head away, not wanting her to see how much her words hurt. But the truth always hurt more than any lie. He wasn't strong like before and Teyla knew it. She could see it. She always saw too much.

"Maybe we should go and let you rest." Ford spoke up.

John was going to reply but Beckett suddenly bustled into the area.

Carson took one look at the tray of untouched food and began shooing Ford and Teyla out the door. "Major Sheppard needs his rest and he needs to _eat_!" The last was said with a glare directed at Sheppard.

"Eat it yourself!" John shot back. And the anger he had been holding back came bursting out of him. He was so tired of being told what to do. He had escaped from Kolya only to be held captive by his own people. Without thinking, John grabbed the tray of food and hurled it in Beckett's direction. He didn't wait to see if it hit the target. John slid out of bed, knees buckling as his feet hit the floor, but he locked them and was on the move. Only to find Ford in his way. "Move!" John snarled at him.

"Can't do that, sir!" Ford held fast.

John slugged him, not feeling the pain in his knuckles blooming over the itch. He yanked out the IV needle and was turning to step . towards the door when he felt hands grabbing him, pushing him back towards the bed. He fought them and cursed them, screaming over the laughter in his head as they held him down. There was a prick in his shoulder then a swirl of cold drifting through his veins before the world went black.

Elizabeth was pacing. She stopped and straightened her shoulders, then turned to look at Beckett and Rodney, both of whom sat in front of her desk. "I don't know what to do," she told them. And it was a hard admission to make.

Carson heaved a sigh and rubbed at his eyes. "There's not much we can do at this point. If Major Sheppard doesn't want to help himself, then he's not going to get better. And we can't force him. It's so damn frustrating because he was so close before. I mean...it wasn't going to be easy then, but now it's much worse."

"So that's it? We just wait until he's ready?" Elizabeth's frustration was clear in her voice. "Meanwhile...what? We keep him restrained or sedated? Locked in his room?"

"I don't know what to tell you," Carson admitted. "But we will have to keep him under watch."

Rodney had remained silent, but now he pushed out the chair and spoke up. "I have an idea."

Elizabeth and Carson both looked at him hopefully.

"He won't like it," Rodney whispered. He looked at Carson. "I'll need your help to set it up."

"I'll do whatever I can," Carson promised.

Rodney looked at Elizabeth. "I don't know I'm going to make things better or worse. But I won't give up on the major. He wouldn't give up on us."

Elizabeth looked shaky for a moment, like she might cry, but then her mouth evened out and she nodded. "I trust you, Rodney. And I know the major does too."

"Maybe." Rodney shrugged off that thought for the moment.

"Do what you have to do," Elizabeth ordered.

Rodney nodded then headed out the door.


	10. Chapter 10

John came to awareness slowly. He had been drifting in hazy darkness, mostly shades of gray. But even when the darkness had been black velvet warmth, the pain had rippled through it, slashing patterns of scarlet that felt burned into his flesh. The darkness shaded to white and it made his eyes ache, even though they were still closed.

He didn't want to open them. The pain was vibrating now. He could hear it more than feel it. But the itch was burning just beneath his skin and he wanted desperately to scratch at it but his hands were trapped at his sides. John knew he was in restraints. And he knew he was not alone. He knew it was Rodney who kept vigil. Slowly, he opened his eyes.

Rodney was sitting on the stool, next to the bed. The legs screeched on the floor as he stood up. But he didn't move any closer. "Major?"

John winced at how loudly McKay's voice echoed in his ears. He said nothing in return but shifted his head on the pillow. He had to blink a few times to bring McKay into sharp focus. He looked drawn and tired and solemn. That rattled John a bit. Especially the fact that Rodney seemed so utterly...still.

"Can I ask you a question?" Rodney's voice was edgy and impatient now.

He didn't want to talk. He didn't want to answer questions. He just wanted everyone to leave him alone. John wanted Rodney to understand that. He looked at him for a moment, then looked away. He said nothing.

Rodney sighed, heavily. Then he asked his question. "Do you want to die?"

That startled John and he flinched, but he still would not reply. The pain was waking up, prickling over his skin, dancing here and there, a counterpoint to the itch and burn that slithered through his veins. John shifted away from Rodney, wanting to shut him out. He tugged on the restraints, hating the way they made him feel. He was still trapped and still scared and that made him angry. The anger burned in his gut and seared him from the inside out. Rodney could go to hell!

"If you want to die then I wash my hands of you!" Rodney's voice was cold and sharp and he almost snarled the words.

And the words stung. John flinched as if punched in the gut. The pain that taunted him wrapped around him, snake-like and he almost welcomed the pressure. It was almost comforting in it's familiarity. What Rodney was saying scared the hell out of John. He felt sickened at the thought that Rodney was giving up on him. But still he said nothing. There was nothing to say. He closed his eyes and waited for Rodney to walk away.

But Rodney moved closer, fingers closing over the bedrails and gripping until his knuckles turned white. His voice softened. "But if you want to live, Major...I'll help you. It's your choice."

John shifted towards Rodney but could not meet his gaze, but he could feel the intensity of it fixated on him. He wasn't sure what he wanted anymore. He was so tired of everything. Sometimes breathing seemed so fucking complicated. He wanted to be numb. He wanted to fade into oblivion. But when he felt a hand touch his shoulder, John had to look up. And what he saw in Rodney's eyes made him want to look away. Shimmering in the blue depths was a flicker of hope. A little flame that John did not want to extinguish. But he wasn't ready for this. For any of it. He wasn't strong enough and he thought Rodney knew that. But even now he could see the hope sliding into disappointment and that twisted John's insides into knots. As Rodney turned away he whispered, "I don't want to die."

"Good answer." Rodney was smiling and he reached out again, this time squeezing Sheppard's shoulder.

"Okay," John breathed softly. And he let the warmth of Rodney's hope wrap around him, chasing away the cold chill of denial.

Two days passed in somewhat of a haze for John. He was released from the restraints and Beckett fussed over him, while Rodney explained his plan. It seemed almost too simple and John was still a bit surprised that Weir and Beckett had agreed to it. But here he was, wandering around in an area of Atlantis he had never seen before. Weir was watching him while Rodney was with Beckett, who was going over some medical things with him. John didn't know what they were doing nor did he care. He took the time to wander about the rooms he would be staying in. The place was like a small apartment with a large bedroom, that had a rather large bed plus a cot. John had already teased Rodney by calling dibs on the bed. There was a bathroom and a kitchen like area and what could pass for a livingroom space that had a table set up.

Finishing up his tour, John found Weir in the bedroom, sitting on the cot. "Nice digs," he stated, smiling at her. He was relieved when she smiled back.

"Are you ready for this, John?" she asked, the smile slipping a bit.

"Hell if I know." He paced around the room. He wasn't sure about anything. But Rodney seemed certain about everything and John was going to trust him. Trust him enough to be locked in with him for however long it took to go cold turkey. No weaning him off the Red Sun this time, just letting what remained in his blood stream run it's course until it was gone. Beckett seemed positive that it would work it's way out of his system and then he could get back to the life he used to live, not this cold facsimile of living. John was all for that. Even though he wasn't sure he remembered what his life used to be like before the pain and burn that consumed him now. He felt the burn ripple over his skin and his fingers scrabbled after it, nails biting through his shirt sleeve and digging in until he heard the sound of Rodney's voice and his hand jerked away to fall to his side. He had to curl his fingers into a fist to keep them still.

Rodney was smiling as he approached Sheppard. "Everything is set up. We have everything we need. Medical supplies, food, clothing and toiletries. You have your book and I have my lap top so...we're good to go. I mean...if you're ready."

John couldn't help but smile at Rodney's enthusiasm. He couldn't help but feel hopeful, even though he could hear the devil laughing in his head. "I'm ready," he said firmly.

"Good luck, Major. Rodney." Weir stood up and nodded to them both before heading for the door.

Dr. Beckett was already on the outside. He waved then closed the door.

John heard the sound of a lock being snapped into place. He knew that Rodney had made sure to use a standard lock to seal them in. Relying on the ancient locks wasn't an option because it would be to easy for John to let himself out. This way, they had to be let out. The pain lurking beneath the surface of his skin, skittered about, as if taunt him. John set his teeth and refused to scratch.

Rodney was watching him. "Remember, I'll have to draw blood from you every day so Beckett can test it."

"I remember." John felt tired all of the sudden. Tired and scared and the walls looked like they were closing in fast. But when he looked at Rodney, Rodney seemed to be okay. So John smiled at him and asked, "Know how to play Gin Rummy?"

"Of course." Rodney looked smug.

It made John laugh, but the sound almost stuck in his throat, as if he had forgotten how. He coughed slightly then headed for the bedroom. He remembered that the card were on the night stand. He snatched them up then found Rodney already sitting at the table. John sat down across from him and opened the deck, but they slithered from his hands, which he realized were shaking. "Maybe this is a bad idea."

Rodney scooped up the cards. "It's fine," he said firmly.

"Thirsty?" John jumped up out of the chair. It was too hard to be still, he needed to keep moving. If he stood still too long the pain could wrap around him too tight.

"I wouldn't mind something cold," Rodney allowed.

John nodded and headed for the kitchen area. There was a cupboard like spot that worked as a refrigerator unit. John opened it and scooped out two bottles of water. He brought them back to the table and handed one to Rodney. Neither one of them missed how badly his hand was shaking. John knew he couldn't do this. He turned away, uncapping the bottle, fumbling the cap and cursing before lifting the bottle to his lips and draining half the contents. But he still felt thirsty and hot, but cold on the inside.

Rodney moved behind him. "It's going to be okay." He had the cap in his hand and he took Sheppard's bottle and screwed it on before setting it aside. "Maybe you should lie down for a while?"

"No...I'm good." John was lying but he desperately wanted it to be true. But it wouldn't be. This was a mistake, a big mistake. He couldn't do this. He started pacing, his arms folded over his chest, fingers digging into his forearms but holding on tight, not clawing at the burn. But it taunted him, prickling beneath his skin.

"Do you surf?" The question was casual enough but Rodney's tone sounded desperate.

John froze and turned to face him, eyes narrowed as in confusion. But then it hit him what Rodney was doing. Offering him a distraction, and he was grateful for it. This was almost as familiar as the pain. "Why do you ask?" John managed to make his tone light.

Rodney shrugged, a sharp jerking of his shoulders, betraying his nervousness. "You mentioned surfing being in our future after you and Ford discovered the mainland."

"Oh...yeah." John remembered that, even though it seemed like it was a lifetime ago. "Yeah...I surf."

"I've always wanted to try it."

John was surprised by that. "Really?" It was hard to picture Rodney on a surfboard, but John gave it a shot. And the image made him chuckle.

Rodney glared at him in true Rodney fashion. "What's so funny?"

"You on a surf board." John smiled at him. "I could teach you sometime. I mean...if we can find some surf boards." Which he knew wasn't likely. They probably had a better chance of finding gold. The irony being they would have no place to spend it if they did.

"I could make some boards," Rodney offered.

John blinked at him. "Really?"

Rodney nodded. "Really."

"That's cool." John might have said more but the pain was tired of being ignored and it dug into him, grinding into his flesh and he bit his lip to hold back a cry of pain.

"What can I do to help?" Rodney was by his side, hands gripping Sheppard's shoulders, guiding him into the bedroom and onto the bed.

John didn't know what to tell him. He couldn't think of an answer. He curled up onto his side, the fingers of one hand digging into the blanket under him. He felt himself rocking as the pain unfurled itself inside him. It felt white-hot, searing his nerve endings where it touched, jolting him like knife points stabbing into him and he couldn't remember it being this intense before. The itch worked in tandem with the pain, and it made him want to scream until his throat was raw. But he swallowed back the sound, even though a whimper escaped him. John curled up tighter, feeling the cold sweat that slicked his skin. Feeling the texture of the cloth Rodney used to wipe his face. He pulled away, scrabbling back off the bed, almost crawling into the corner and stuffing himself inside it.

His skin was crackling with the burn and he had to dig at it, fingernails burrowing deep, gouging out furrows of red until fingers gripped his wrists like bands of steel, dragging him down, a weight pressing over him until he couldn't breathe and he was begging and sobbing, screaming after all.

And he still heard the devil laughing, even after everything faded to black.


	11. Chapter 11

He could feel himself shaking, his body shuddering so hard that it made his teeth clatter together and the sound echoed in his head. And he was cold, so bitterly cold, and the pain sifted through him, like grains of sand scrubbing each and every nerve ending raw. He tried to scratch it away, fingers digging hard into his flesh, clawing at it but he was shaking so hard he couldn't dig deep enough. And then something grabbed at him, pinning him down, and he fought against it, heaving his body upward, but the weight clung to him, pressing him back down, holding him, suffocating him and he had to bite his lip to keep from begging. The devil loved it when he begged.

He could hear the devil laughing.

But then it faded away and another voice was seeping into his head. Whispering his name.

"...John? Major! I need you to look at me..."

He didn't want to look. It hurt to breathe and if he opened his eyes it would be too bright and the pain would stab into him. Stabbing deeper and deeper and he would break away.

"...dammit, Major! Open you eyes!..."

He knew that voice. John sucked in a painful breath and did as he was told. He opened his eyes but the face looming over him was blurred. He blinked hard and it came into fuzzy focus.

Rodney looked relieved. "Thank God...I thought I'd lost you for a minute."

John let his eyes drift closed again, his eyelids felt so heavy. But they fluttered open when he felt cool wetness on his face. The rough brush of the towel against his chin was painful and John heard a whimper escape him.

"Sorry...sorry." Rodney tossed the towel away. "You're soaked in sweat and shivering. I need to get you warm. Can you stand up?"

"Tired..." John felt like his throat was lined with broken glass.

Rodney sighed. "I know you're tired, Major. Join the club. But I need to get you in the shower and into dry clothes. You sweated through these."

John felt fingers plucking at his shirt and he realized it was plastered against his skin. He wanted to be warm again so he made the attempt to unfurl and sit up. But the movement sent off shockwaves of pain and he bit through his lip to hold back a cry.

"Shit!" Rodney shifted around until he could draw Sheppard into a loose hug. "I know this sucks, Major, but you can do this. I'll help."

"No...no..." John didn't want to move. Didn't want to breathe. But then he heard the devil laugh again and that made him angry. Kolya was laughing at him. Kolya was dead but the fucker was still winning. So John gritted his teeth and did what he could to push himself off the bed. He didn't remember walking to the bathroom or stripping off his clothes. He knew it was warm though, almost stifling hot, even when Rodney pulled him out of the shower and got him dressed. "Warm..." John whispered.

Rodney was almost wheezing. "Yeah...sorry. I turned up the environmentals so you wouldn't be cold. I'll turn them down again in a bit. He toweled himself off better and finished dressing. "Come lie down on the cot while I change the sheets on the bed.

John nodded and took a step and it felt amazing to be able to do so. Amazing because he could and amazing because he realized the pain was fading away. The burn was cooling down. So John took another step but then he froze. "Sick.." he whispered.

"Here!" Rodney was spurred into action. He got Sheppard over to the toilet and supported him as he vomited until he was wracked with the dry heaves. "Carson said that might happen," he said, once the major was done. He grabbed a towel and used it to wipe the cold sweat from Sheppard's face. Then he helped him over to the sink.

"Thanks." It hurt to talk, the bile had burned his throat. So John rinsed his mouth then brushed his teeth, then he swallowed a bit of water and it helped.

Rodney was hovering close by. "Back to bed with you," he said, as he wrapped an arm around the major's waist. And they headed out of the bathroom. "So...have you always been so skinny?" he asked, conversationally.

John would have glared at Rodney for that one, if it didn't take so much effort. "Not skinny," he shot back.

"Yeah you are. All the more so now." Rodney guided Sheppard over to the cot and eased him down. Then he covered him with a blanket. "Rest while I change the sheets."

"Okay." John was willing to obey since he knew he wasn't strong enough to do anything else. The pain had faded but it was still sharp on the edge of his awareness. Like it always was. And the burn was skittering here and there under his skin. He curled his fingers in the blanket so that he wouldn't scratch.

Rodney stripped the bed and made it efficiently. All the while he kept talking. "Seriously...you've never been fat...have you?"

John sighed and he realized he was happy. This was familiar and mundane and just so Rodney. "No...never," he allowed.

"Figures." Rodney shook out the pillows then pulled on fresh cases. "And you'll probably always be skinny. Even when you're ninety."

"Won't live that long," John mumbled. And he didn't want to.

Rodney was done with the bed so he moved back to the cot. "Let's get you settled, Major."

John tried to pull away. "You take the bed, Rodney. You need to rest."

"Nice try." Rodney could out stubborn a mule when he wanted too. And he didn't even argue the point with Sheppard. He just hauled him off the cot and pretty much carried him to the bed.

"Fucker!" John hissed, but he wasn't really angry. Not at Rodney anyway. He was mad at himself for being so damn weak. For feeling so damn fragile. And he was cold again. Always cold.

Rodney saw him shiver and piled blankets over him. "Better?"

John closed his eyes. "Better." But it wasn't really. Nothing had changed and he was tired of everything.

"Are you hungry?" Rodney sat down on the edge of the bed and studied Sheppard.

"No." John was a little surprised that Rodney would even ask that after watching him puke his guts up.

Rodney sighed. "You have to eat, Major. You're skin and bones now."

John peeled his eyes open so he could glare at Rodney. "You're just jealous," he taunted, because being sarcastic about this was better than accepting the reality of it. He was weak and worn out and just a shell of who he used to be. And the worst part was that John wasn't sure he remembered who he used to be. And if he couldn't remember, how could he go back to being that man?

"I am a bit jealous," Rodney allowed, and he was smiling. "I was a fat kid and you don't even want to know how fat I got in college."

"How fat?" John knew what Rodney was doing and he welcomed the distraction.

Rodney winced. "Too damn fat. Comfort food. I was just a kid in college and I didn't fit in at all. So I ate. A lot. All the time."

John reached out to pat Rodney on the arm, to offer a bit of sympathy, but the pain chose that moment to twist in his gut and John's fingers gripped Rodney's forearm like a steel claw.

"What can I do to help?" Rodney went pale as he watched the major shudder.

"Nothing...I'm...I'm okay." The pain let up but it had been so sharp and hard that it took his breath away. John drew in shuddery lungfuls of air.

Rodney peeled Sheppard's fingers off his arm then moved to climb onto the bed. He shifted being Sheppard, who was curled up on his side. Reaching out, Rodney began rubbing John's back. "Does it help?"

Surprisingly, it did. "Yeah...it helps." John felt himself relaxing again. He let himself be soothed as much by Rodney's touch as by the motion of it. Rocking John in an unfamiliar rhythm that seemed to distract the pain. And it wasn't long before John felt himself drifting into warm darkness.

Rodney kept rubbing Sheppard's back until he was positive he was asleep. Then he slid off the bed and headed for the bathroom. He splashed cold water on his face, telling himself that when he dried it off with a towel, he was only wiping away water, not tears. He didn't move for a long time, but then he shook himself and headed back out. Rodney studied Sheppard for a moment, marveling how someone who had suffered so much and looked so battle weary could still be so beautiful. It hurt to see such beauty wounded.

Reaching out with one hand, Rodney smoothed back a wayward lock of Sheppard's hair. It was longer now, but still spiky. And softer than it looked like it would be. Rodney smiled at that before grabbing another blanket to smooth over Sheppard. He didn't want him to be cold. Then Rodney headed for the kitchen to retrieve the medical supplies. A few minutes later he had a tube of blood and he contacted Beckett by radio to report to him about Sheppard's condition and that he had a sample ready.

Five minutes later Rodney stood before the open door. He passed off the tube of blood to Beckett, who handed it off to an assistant. "He's still asleep. It was bad."

"Want me to check on him?" Carson offered.

"Not yet. I'll let you know when I'm in full blown panic mode."

Carson patted Rodney on the shoulder. "You're doing a good thing, Rodney. The right thing. Major Sheppard will get through this because of you."

Rodney wanted to believe that but wasn't sure he could. "I hope so. I hope I'm not fucking him up more."

"Believe in yourself, Rodney," Carson advised. He patted his shoulder once more then closed the door and locked it.

"I'm trying," Rodney whispered. He wiped a hand over his face and headed back to check on Sheppard. The major was still asleep and looked almost peaceful. So Rodney stretched out on the other bed, lying on his side, facing the major. He closed his eyes, but he didn't sleep.


	12. Chapter 12

John felt gritty and itchy. He also felt like every muscle in his body had been pulled or strained. And even as he peeled open his eyes and shifted his head, he knew he didn't want to move. And when he did attempt to sit up, his arms shook as they supported his weight. He felt so damn weak and so damn tired.

"How do you feel?"

He jumped at the question and turned his head to find Rodney sitting on the cot, staring at him. "Not sure," John croaked, then he coughed from the dryness in his throat. Just one more thing that ached and he swallowed hard, even as one hand lifted and his finger nails clawed into his forearm.

Rodney offered him a glass of water, watching as he drank. He took it back when John was done. "Better?"

"A little." John went back to scratching his arm, until Rodney gripped his wrist.

"Stop." Rodney's tone was sharp.

John tugged free and made to stand. He faltered and his knees buckled, but he felt Rodney catch him. "Fuck!" John hissed, through gritted teeth. He was tired of feeling detached from his own body. This mass of flesh that itched and burned and betrayed him felt like it belonged to someone else. He had never been this weak. It was like his skin didn't fit. Like it was too tight. "I'm okay," he said, as he found his footing. But even though Rodney let him go, John noticed he hovered nearby. When he stepped away from the bed, Rodney followed. "I'm going to take a shower," John stated, before Rodney could ask. He felt sticky and dirty and he hoped the water might wash away the itch this time.

Rodney followed him into the bathroom, not moving even when John glared at him. "I'm not leaving you alone, Major, so get over it."

"I can shower on my own, Rodney." John realized he sounded like he was begging, rather than making a statement of fact.

"You might pass out...you could drown."

John almost laughed at that. Almost...because he knew that Rodney believed it to be a possibility and he was just trying to take care of him. Sometimes Rodney was just so painfully...Rodney. John lifted his eyes to lock with blue. "I'll be okay," he promised, and he was relieved when Rodney finally nodded.

But even as Rodney backed up to the door he stated, "Call me if you need me. I'll be right outside. Listening."

"To what? I have to warn you, I like to sing in the shower." John realized he was grinning and it felt a bit awkward. Like it was something he had to practice doing and it struck him how long it had been since he felt like smiling. "I like to sing loud," he continued, watching Rodney's face contort into a grimace. "Opera." That last bit made Rodney fly out of the room. Only to pop his head back in as he reached for the door handle.

"Sorry." Rodney yanked the door closed.

But John noticed he didn't close it all the way. It was slightly ajar. And it was all the way across the room. At least eight steps away and John didn't have the energy to go that far. So he settled for stripping off his clothes and stepping into the shower. He turned on the water then pressed himself into the corner until it heated up. Then with soap in hand, he stood beneath the pounding spray, letting it soothe away the ache. But the itch remained and John felt like screaming in frustration.

Scratching his fingers through the soap that slicked his skin, John dug in deep, almost relishing the pain. It kept him focused. And it was only when it began to sting did John realized he was bleeding. He shivered as he rinsed off, then he kept the water running as he slipped out and toweled dry. He started to curse at himself for not remember to bring any clean clothes in with him when he noticed a neatly folded pile sitting on the floor, just inside the door. "Thank you, Rodney," John whispered, as he retrieved the pile then slipped on the boxers and jeans. He didn't pull his shirt on yet because he was still bleeding. His left forearm mostly. So John wrapped the edge of the towel around his arm and held it clamped to his side as he searched in the compartment over the sink for bandages.

He was pleased to find some gauze, but soon realized he wouldn't be able to wrap his arm on his own. And even as John turned, with the intent of calling Rodney, he realized McKay was standing just inside the door. Watching him.

"I got worried," Rodney stated, unapologetically.

"Sorry." John moved to turn the shower off but Rodney beat him too it. Then he moved to turn back to the sink and the gauze, but Rodney was grabbing his arm and peeling back the towel.

Sadness warred with sympathy in Rodney's eyes. Sadness won out as he pulled John over to sit on the toilet seat. "Why do you do that?" he asked, as he studied the bloody furrows.

Leave it to Rodney to be so blunt while being nosy, John thought to himself. But at least McKay had a gentle touch. John watched him pat at the wounds to make them stop bleeding. Then he realized McKay was still waiting for him to answer. "It itches. But I can't scratch deep enough to make it stop." John watched Rodney's face as he spoke, and he realized he was rather hoping that McKay would come up with some solution. Rodney was a genius, maybe he could make the pain and the burn go away.

"I wish there was something I could do," Rodney whispered. He found some white ointment in the cabinet and read the label. Then he smoothed some over the grooves. When John twitched he stopped. "Am I hurting you?"

"You can't hurt me, Rodney," John replied. And it was a simple truth that was almost scary. Rodney didn't have that kind of power. Or maybe he did but it would be a different kind of pain. John shook his head, not wanting to think about it.

Rodney said nothing more as he wrapped the gauze around John's arm then taped it.

John pulled away the moment Rodney was finished, reaching for his tee shirt, only his knees buckled as his body's weakness made itself felt and he was grateful for the arms that caught him and steadied him. But he was angry at himself for being so out of control. "I'm good!" John hissed, as he straightened and pulled away again. He tugged on his shirt then headed for the door. He could feel Rodney on his heels. John felt anxious and jumpy and restless. He wanted to be doing something but his body would not cooperate. He barely made it over to the bed before his knees buckled.

"Rest for a bit," Rodney advised. He was wringing his hands but just stood by the bed. He didn't try to be helpful.

"I guess I have to," John allowed, as he settled himself against the pillows. He tried to keep the anger from his voice. Rodney didn't deserve that. And he was grateful to him for not hovering, although John could tell he wanted to fuss over him. Beckett would be proud of Rodney. Letting his eyes drift closed, John figured he would just try and relax for a moment, but he became aware of movement beside him and a hand pressed to his forehead and panic set in. John slapped the hand away as he opened his eyes and he expected to see Kolya's face. But it was Rodney who stared back at him and everything spun into focus. John raised a shaky hand to his face and rubbed his eyes. "Sorry...guess I dozed off."

Rodney nodded. "You did, for about an hour. I brought lunch."

John sighed as he slid off the bed and he still felt weak, which annoyed him to no end. "I'm not hungry, Rodney."

"You have to eat." Rodney blocked John from stepping away.

"I'll eat later." But when John tried to move around Rodney, he found his way blocked again. "Move!" John snapped.

Rodney held fast. "No."

John was almost surprised by the stubborn glare Rodney directed at him. "Don't push me, Rodney," he warned.

"You're going to eat!" Rodney grabbed John by the arm and pushed him back down onto the bed. Then he grabbed the lap tray which contained a thick sandwich, and set it on John's lap.

"I said I'm not _hungry_!" With that John grabbed the tray and hurled it across the room. His chest was heaving, anger burning deep inside him, awakening the other burn which started trickling into his veins. John ignored it, all of his attention focused on Rodney and what Rodney would do next.

After holding John's glare for a moment, Rodney simply moved to pick up the mess. He took it to the kitchen area and returned a moment later. With a power bar. He grabbed John's hand and smacked the bar into his palm. "Eat." Just one word, calmly spoken, but Rodney was deadly serious.

John knew they were engaged in a war of the wills. He laughed to himself. Rodney had no clue what to do in battle. Lips twisting into a smirk, John held up his hand and crushed the bar before tossing it onto the floor.

"I'll get you another one." Rodney turned to go.

"Don't," John ground out.

But Rodney did just that.

John followed him, cursing the trembling in his body that made him falter a bit. But that was when his anger started kicking up a notch, easing into a full blown rage, and the sudden adrenaline burst gave John the jolt he needed to beat Rodney to his destination. This time he blocked Rodney's way. "Leave me the fuck alone!" John raged at him.

"You have to eat, Major." Rodney spoke calmly and precisely, standing there with his arms folded across his chest.

"You're not my mother, Rodney! So back off!" John took a step closer, hands curling into fists, posture menacing as he advanced.

But Rodney didn't move or change expressions. "No...not your mother," he allowed. "But I am your friend. And you need to eat. And you will eat."

John didn't hesitate. He cocked back his fist then slammed it into Rodney's face, seeing McKay's expression falter in that moment before he connected. Then Rodney was on the floor and John was turning away. The pain seemed to like this anger, it fed upon it, sucking it in before blowing it out so that it could ripple over John's skin even as it seeped deep inside him, twisting in his gut. He moved to the nearest wall and punched it. He felt the jarring impact all the way into his shoulder, but that didn't stop him from drawing his arm back to do it again. Only to find himself slammed into by a solid weight and then he was on the floor. He saw Rodney over him and then he was being pinned down and John bucked up, heaving with all his might to get him off.

"Stop hurting yourself!" Rodney was the one screaming now. He pressed John into the floor and held fast against the thrashing.

"Get off me! You sonofabitch!" John kept bucking and heaving and twisting but he couldn't get Rodney off him . He couldn't break free. The pressure held fast, held him down, and his body shuddered in reaction, waiting for the pain to prick him, but it was like a cloak now, settling over him, washing away the burn, just for this moment in time, and there was only the pain. Only the soothing, searing, rhythm of it and it made his body tremble. But it was familiar and John embraced it. He felt himself relaxing into it.

Rodney's eyes went wide as John turned white and went limp, but he could still feel the slim body shuddering with tremors. "Fuck...FUCK! Major!" Rodney shook him but John's eyes, though open, were blank. Thankfully it didn't last long and suddenly Sheppard was rigid, eyes wide open, sucking in air. And Rodney reacted on instinct. He hauled him upright just in time for John to vomit. He held him as more yellow bile hit the floor. Then John was shaking hard and trying to curl into himself and Rodney knew the pain was back, full force. He got into a crouch, pulling John with him, then lifted him into his arms. It was scarily easy to lift the major. He was far too light for his body structure, far too fragile.

Moving quickly, Rodney took Sheppard into the bedroom and placed him on the bed. He grabbed a blanket, wrapped it around the shuddering form, then drew him back into his arms and held on tight.

John heard snoring. Heard it and felt it. The solid bulk behind him was vibrating. He shifted over then turned his head and almost smiled as he watched Rodney sleeping. Would have smiled if it wasn't for the dark and ugly bruise that marred Rodney's face. And his eye looked puffy. Closing his eyes, John relieved the moment he had slugged his friend. Slugged him with the intent of hurting him. Wanting to hurt him.

Tears burned in his eyes as John slid off the bed. He felt weak as a newborn kitten. Weak and cold and damp and gritty. His legs wouldn't hold him so John crawled into the corner. He stuffed himself into it as far as he would go, then he drew his knees up to his chest and wrapped his arms around them. He was so cold, so damn cold. Not even the burn of the itch that tingled over his skin could warm him. Still staring at Rodney's sleeping form, John let his head bang back against the wall. Over and over and over again.

Rodney heard the thudding sound. It was more annoying than the incessant buzzing of an alarm clock. He wanted to sleep, but it dragged him to consciousness, so he opened his eyes, wincing at the soreness in his left eye, then he carefully blinked everything into focus. What he saw made him scramble off the bed.

John felt the hands on his face, stopping the rhythm of his thuds. Making the pain crackle back over him. He closed his eyes, not wanting to see the sadness in Rodney's. Not wanting to see the other man's pain and pity.

"Don't..." Rodney whispered.

"I'm sorry...I'm sorry.." John spoke so softly that he wondered if Rodney could hear him. So he said it again. "Sorry...sorry…sorry..." He said it over and over again, wanting to make sure Rodney heard him. Then he felt himself wrapped in warm hardness. Felt the thudding of a heartbeat against his cheek. Felt the rhythm that Rodney set and the soft whispers meant to soothe him. But John could still hear the devil laughing.


	13. Chapter 13

John could feel someone watching him. He knew it was Rodney. So John opened his eyes and he winced to see the bruise on Rodney's face. Reflexively he curled his fingers into a fist, feeling the skin tighten and the jolting pain of bruised knuckles. "I'm sorry," John whispered.

Rodney got up from the cot and moved to the bed. "It's okay. It wasn't you."

"Yes...it was." It hurt John to admit that. Because he didn't recognize who he was anymore but he couldn't change who he was now either. What he had become. A stranger to himself.

"Are you hungry?" Rodney changed the subject, looking hopeful.

John wasn't, but he nodded anyway. "A little." His arms felt shaky as he pushed himself upright against the pillows. John watched Rodney walk into the other room and he was back a moment later with a couple of power bars and a bottle of water.

Rodney held out the powerbars. "Pick your favorite."

"Considering how much I hate these things, that might be hard to do," John teased, even as he took the strawberry one. He knew Rodney liked the chocolate ones best.

"You need all the vitamins and stuff. Beckett told me that once you're past this, he's going to put you on a vitamin regime." All this was spoken between bites of Power bar, with Rodney swiping the crumbs from his mouth with the back of one hand.

John winced as he opened his own package and made himself take a bite. He managed to swallow it and he was more than a little surprised when it stayed down. But he had to take a long swig of water before he could handle another bite. "Vitamins are overrated," John countered.

Rodney nodded. "I have to agree with you there. But Carson swears by them."

"Yeah." John realized he couldn't handle this small talk until he cleared the air between them. "Rodney..." he began.

"Just let it go!" Rodney interjected, and he sounded pissed.

John stared at him in surprise. "I don't know if I can."

There was a trashcan nearby and Rodney tossed the foil from his powerbar into it, before turning to glare at Sheppard. "What happened, happened, Major. You hit me and I survived. I didn't even whine about it, even though it hurt like hell! But my point is that you weren't in control of yourself so stop apologizing. Okay?"

"Okay." John didn't know what else to say after that. And he didn't want to upset Rodney further. So he took another bite of the powerbar before conceding defeat, and he was relieved when Rodney simply took the leftover bit and tossed it. "Want to play cards?" John asked. Their last attempt had been less than successful and he needed the distraction. The pain was still there, smoldering beneath his skin. The itch was strangely absent, which actually made John a little nervous. So he wanted to focus on something else. "You can pick the game."

"Rummy," Rodney replied, without hesitation. Then he disappeared only to return with the cards.

John frowned at Rodney when he settled in at the foot of his bed. "Aren't we going to use the table?"

Rodney didn't look up from the cards he was shuffling. "No. You need to rest. We can play here." He dealt out their cards then studied his own hand. "Go."

"Want to make a bet?" John asked, even as he played his first card.

"You can't bet on Rummy," Rodney scoffed. He played his card and looked a bit smug.

John snorted. "You can bet on anything, Rodney." He would have explained further but a sudden jolt of pain sucked the air out of his lungs and John curled into himself, bending the cards as his fingers closed into fists.

Rodney went pale. "What can I do?"

"N-nothing.." John whispered. He tried to ride out the wave of the pain, letting it ripple through him, but it didn't rise into a crest and ebb away. It simply spread out, seeping into his veins and into his pores, sucking a whimper out of him. John closed his eyes but opened them when the image of Kolya's face danced behind his lids. But a blurred face loomed over him and John tried to scrabble back, but the pain had locked his muscles into place and he remembered this clearly. Remembered feeling this way day after day. He remembered the way Kolya's voice had grated in his ear. How Kolya's touch had been like a brand burning into his skin. scarring him for life.

"Major!" Rodney was beside him, hands on his shoulders.

John tried to focus on him, on Rodney's voice, but all he could hear was Kolya's laughter, mocking him. "No...no...no...no...please stop...please.."

Rodney panicked. "What's wrong, Major? You have to tell me what's wrong."

"Is she dead? Did I kill her? Please...please tell me." John realized even as he asked the question that he was slipping away. The pain had wrapped around him and it was pulling him into that other place. Into that cold hell that had been John's home for what seemed like an eternity. He knew he would never escape it.

"Is who dead?" Rodney prompted, and he was still clutching Sheppard's shoulders.

John couldn't remember who. Everyone was dead anyway. Kolya had told him so. And John had killed them. All of them. Rodney and Teyla and Ford and Weir. He had killed Elizabeth. John could see her body lying lifeless on the floor. A bullet hole between her eyes. "No...NO!" He shook his head to make the image of her go away.

Rodney gripped Sheppard harder and shook him. "Major...it's me! It's Rodney! Talk to me, Major. Who do you think died?"

"Elizabeth." John whispered her name.

"She's not dead."

John wanted to believe that. "I killed her."

Rodney shook him again. "She's not dead! I swear to you...Elizabeth is alive and well!"

"I killed her..." The pain seared beneath his skin and John bit his lip to keep from crying out. Kolya laughed when he begged. So John had stopped begging.

"Elizabeth is not dead!" Rodney looked scared now.

The pain curled in his belly, twisting into knots, and John felt a cold sweat sheen his skin. He felt himself start shake and he was so tired of this. He was supposed to be free. It wasn't supposed to be like this. He couldn't do this again. But maybe he could still be free. Kolya had offered him his gun, curling John's fingers around it even. He had smiled as he waited for John to pull the trigger. He had wanted him to put a bullet in his own head. But John had turned the gun on Kolya, and even with his hand shaking he knew he wouldn't miss the bastard. But when he had pulled the trigger, the chamber had clicked on empty. Just like he was. Empty inside.

John blinked hard and Rodney's face came into focus. "Please..." he whispered.

"Please what?" Rodney looked almost hopeful. "What is it, Major? Can I get you something? Just ask...I get it for you."

"I can't...I can't do this, Rodney." John closed his eyes against the sting of tears. He was too tired to fight anymore.

Rodney shook his head. "I know you can do this, Major. You made it through before and you'll do it again."

John felt a tear slide down his face. "No...more." The pain twisted, piercing through him and twisting viciously and John felt his body arch up off the bed. He felt his muscles shudder then cramp up and he choked on a sob. "Please...make it stop!" John had begged to Kolya so he could beg now. "Rodney...please...make it stop. Please."

"You just have to ride it out, Major." Rodney was on the bed now, pulling John up into his arms.

"No..." John bit his lip, drawing blood, arching again as the knife blade of pain dug deeper. He couldn't remember it being this bad before. He wasn't strong enough to fight it. "Kill me..." he breathed the words, exhaling them from a throat that felt thick and raw and swollen.

Rodney frowned then bent his head. "What did you say?"

John took a deep breath and whispered, "Kill me...please."

Rodney made a choked sound and closed his eyes.


	14. Chapter 14

The pain was burrowing deeper into John. It had latched onto every breath he took, making him shudder as he sucked in oxygen and expelled it in searing gasps. His chest felt tight and every muscle felt swollen and throbbing and the blood in his vein was pure fire. He couldn't do this. He couldn't survive this. He didn't want to. "Please...please..." John was sobbing and the tears on his face burned.

"NO!" Rodney shifted back, stilling holding Sheppard, but shaking him a bit. "NO Dammit! I won't kill you! I won't let you die! You can do this, Major! Fight it!"

"C-can't…tired.." It was so hard to force out the words. His throat felt raw and tight and the sound echoed loudly in his head, making the pain vibrate throughout his body. But he had to make Rodney understand. "N-no...more..."

Rodney held him as he shuddered uncontrollably. "I'll call Beckett. It will be okay, Major. I promise."

John knew it was a promise Rodney couldn't keep. He was dying anyway. He could hear Kolya laughing and it made him angry to know that the bastard would win. But the pain was stronger than the anger and John couldn't fight back.

"Don't give up! Goddamit! Do you hear me? Major!" Rodney's voice went from angry to panicked. "Sheppard? Look at me! Oh God...oh God!" Rodney laid Sheppard down and ran into the other room.

"S-sorry..." John whispered. He knew he was alone. He could feel it. The pain was all he had, all he would ever be. It wrapped around him like a shroud, rippling over his skin as it tightened. And then everything faded to black.

Elizabeth entered the infirmary. She felt tears sting her eyes as she stared at the figure on the bed. Rodney had hit the panic button three days ago and John had nearly died. They had almost lost him. As it was, he was in a coma and Carson could not reassure them that he would wake up. Nor could he predict what the major's condition would be if...when...he did. It was hard for them all to see him like this. So still and pale and fragile. But Elizabeth knew it was hardest on Rodney.

Not surprisingly, he was ensconced in the chair next to Sheppard's bed. There was a small cot on the other side, where Rodney slept at night. He hadn't left, other than to shower, since the major had collapsed. Rodney wouldn't talk to anyone about what had happened. Nor would he give up on Sheppard. He sat with him, tapping away on his laptop and chattering a mile a minute. And he glowered at anyone who came to visit that dared to be anything but positive around the major. In fact, it was Rodney who insisted that everyone visit daily and sit with Sheppard. To talk to him. And Elizabeth was here now, to do just that. "Hi, Rodney." She touched his shoulder as she reached him.

"Elizabeth." Rodney smiled, although it was a bit strained, and got up from the chair. "While you're with him I'll go grab a shower and something to eat. I won't be long."

"Okay." She didn't argue with him. Whatever it took to get him through this, she would allow it. For now. Until there was no hope left. But Elizabeth wanted to believe that Sheppard would pull through this. He was the strongest man she knew. She ignored the chair in favor of standing next to the bed. Elizabeth bypassed all the tubes and wires coming out of the major and reached for his hand. She curled her fingers, gently, over his. "Hi, John. It's Elizabeth. That's one hell of a nap you're taking, you know that? But I need you to wake up. Soon. I need you, major. Atlantis needs you. I know you've been hearing that a lot the past few days, and I think Rodney is right. You do hear us. But do you listen?" Elizabeth smiled at her own question. She had wondered that in the past when dealing with Sheppard. But in her heart she knew that he always heard what was said to him. Even when it didn't look like he was paying attention, Major Sheppard was always listening.

Elizabeth reached out with her free hand to smooth a lock of dark hair off his forehead. She wished he would open his eyes now. She missed seeing the glow of mischief in the green-hazel depths. That spark of life that glittered there always. He wasn't meant to be like this. "Lt. Ford is doing a good job running things, but it's wearing on him. I know it wore on you too. You never asked for this, but you sure stepped up when I needed you too. We might not always see eye to eye, major, but I know we both do what we do with the belief in our hearts that it's the right thing to do at the time. I admire you for that. Because you always follow your heart, John. Well...tempered by a little bit of instinct and the belief that things will work out in the end. And they do. Maybe not the way we'd like, but that's life and you need to come back to live it. With us." Elizabeth realized she was getting a bit maudlin and that a tear was sliding down her face. She brushed it away and smiled. "Bottomline...it's time to get back to work, major." Elizabeth squeezed his hand then moved to sit in the chair. On the bedtable was his book, War and Peace. She reached for it and began to read. Always starting at page one. She would never go past where he had left off. If he wanted to know how it ended, he would have to wake up and read it for himself.

Ford sat on the edge of the chair, his hat clutched in his hands. He couldn't quite look at the figure lying in the bed, so he stared at his feet as he spoke. "Me again, sir. Ford. I...um...I...there's something I've been wanting to say to you since Sumner died. I wanted you to know I don't blame you for what happened. I know you had no choice, but I get the feeling that you blame yourself. You shouldn't. I think about it a lot, about the Colonel dying. He was a good man. A good soldier. But I think what happened...it happened for a reason. I think you were meant to step up and take his place. This is going to sound stupid...but I think you belong here, sir. I think you're a part of Atlantis. And not just because you have the gene either. You just...fit...here." Ford looked up now, as if willing the major to open his eyes and argue the point with him. He sighed when the figure remained still. "You need to come back, sir. I can't do your job. I don't want to do it. So...if you could wake up soon...that would be great." Ford stood up and shuffled over to the bed. He laid one hand on the major's shoulder and squeezed it. "I miss you, sir," he said softly.

Then he turned and walked away.

Carson checked the major's vitals. His fever had finally broken and there had been a moment of hope. But Sheppard remained sleeping. "You're a hard man to figure, Major," Carson said as he took his pulse the old fashioned way. "Ornery as they come, but most of the time for a good reason. You're missed, laddie. I doubt you realize how much or you'd be opening them eyes already."

Moving to the other side of the bed, Carson checked the IV's. "You've been good for Rodney. Bet you didn't know that. But you have been. He's got someone to snark with that doesn't take offense. And he'll never admit it but he's delighted that you're smart to boot. Myself...I have to admit to a certain fondness for watching the two of you go at it. Pure entertainment you are." Carson chuckled softly, but it faded as he stared down at Sheppard's pale face. He heaved a sigh. "You've fought so hard, laddie. For everyone here. To keep us all alive. And when that Wraith buggy had you...you never gave up. Not once. So don't be giving up now, Major. We need you too much for you to let go." That said, Carson patted Sheppard on the arm, then he headed out, dropping a blanket over Rodney, who was snoring away on the small cot.

Teyla felt a tear slide down her face as she stood next to Sheppard's bedside. But she was smiling as she spoke. "I remember well the first time we met. I have not told you this, but I was struck by your beauty. And it was more than how physically pleasing you are, Major. You're heart is beautiful, major. The passion that is within you is beautiful as well. You value life and you value people and you were the first of your kind to look at me, not through me. I know that you respect me as a leader and a warrior, and that means more to me that you know. I admire the way you never give up, so please...Major...do not give up now. You are the strongest man I have ever known and it has been my pleasure to work with you. I wish to continue to do so."

Another tear slid down her face and Teyla wiped it away with the back of one hand. Then she moved closer, easing past the tubes and wires, so that she could rise on tiptoe and lean over the bed until her forehead was pressed against Sheppard. "You have found a place in my heart, Major. But it feels empty right now...my friend." Easing back, Teyla studied him for a moment, then she turned and left, wiping away more tears.

"Do you remember on the Jumper when we were all so close to dying?" Rodney was pacing as he talked, pacing and waving his hands around. It had been five days and Sheppard still hadn't opened his eyes and Rodney was beginning to be afraid he never would. But Rodney had learned not to give up without a fight, and he had learned that from the major. "I was scared to death...of course you know that. But what you did...what you said...that helped. You always know how to keep me focused. And I'll tell you a secret...I admired you that day. I mean...you were dying before the rest of us but your first thought was to find a way to get that bug off so you could help me save Stackhouse and Markham. And I heard you when you first woke up after we got stuck. How you asked Teyla if she was okay. You always do that kind of thing. You always worry about everyone else first. That's something worth admiring."

Rodney stopped rambling and pulled the stool over to the bed and sat down. He reached for Sheppard's hand, being careful of the IV. He felt the need to be connected to him. The beep-beep of the machinery grated on Rodney's nerves. Sheppard didn't belong here. He didn't need to be here. "Wake up, dammit! You've been asleep long enough, Major!" Rodney was getting angry. He was so damn tired and so damn scared. He made to stand up to start pacing again but he thought he felt something against his hand. "Major?" Rodney stared at his still face. "If you can hear me...and I know you can...squeeze my hand." Rodney held his breath as he waited. But nothing happened. He closed his eyes against the sting of tears when he felt it. Sheppard's fingers twitched and then the closed over his. A week grip but it was there. It was real.

"Thank you.." Rodney realized he was almost sobbing and he snuffled back the tears. He squeezed Sheppard's hand in return and couldn't keep the smile off his face. "I knew you were still fighting. I knew it." He inhaled a shuddery breath then bellowed, "CARSON! GET YOU ASS IN HERE! MAJOR SHEPPARD IS AWAKE!"

Not ten seconds later the area was filled with medical personnel and Rodney was shoved into a corner. But he didn't care. He could still feel Sheppard's grip on his hand and that was all that mattered. Major John Sheppard hadn't tossed in the towel. He would live to fight another day and another and... Rodney shut down his own thoughts as he slid down the wall and sat on the floor. Then he buried his face in his hands and cried.


	15. Chapter 15

John felt smothered by darkness. It was wrapped around him like a heavy weight and he tried to shrug it off like he would a blanket it. But it would not be dislodged so easily. So he drifted in the cocooned warmth for a bit until the sound of voices penetrated through the muffled layers of sub-consciousness. They pulled him toward the light.

_"He's doing fine, Rodney."_

_"You keep saying that, but he's still not awake."_

_"He'll wake up when he's ready. You told me yourself he's opened his eyes a few times while you were sitting with him."_

_"True...but maybe you should hook him back up to the heart monitor at least. Just to be safe."_

_"The major's heart is just fine, Rodney. Trust me. Now either settle down somewhere or go away. You're making me nervous."_

The voices were blessedly familiar. Comforting. They pushed away the darkness, even though John wasn't ready yet to open his eyes. He heard a scraping sound and a soft thud and he knew that it was Rodney settling next to him in the chair that was off to his right. John was content to listen to the sounds Rodney made as he settled himself. Shifting a bit, mumbling to himself, then the sound of tin foil and John knew McKay was eating a powerbar. And that was comforting in itself. It was just a little thing but it was a part of the life John had been trying so desperately to get back to.

He let himself relax into the comfort of soft blankets, feeling the tension that had gripped him for so long, ease from his muscles. He listened hard, waiting for that other sound. The devil's laughter. But there was nothing but the sound of Rodney sniffing a bit and still crinkling the paper on his powerbar. John shifted a bit, barely moving, just enough to jog awake the pain that was a part of him. But it was gone, leaving behind an empty feeling that was a bit overwhelming and scary, but at the same time it was exhilarating. Only he felt too exhausted to revel in it. It was enough that it was gone. And it was perfect that Rodney was with him. John felt safe. So when the darkness wrapped around him again, he welcomed it. He was finally home.

"So...what page are you on?"

John looked up from his book to see Weir approaching. He smiled at her. "Page 52. A little behind schedule."

Elizabeth nodded. "You'll catch up." She sat down in the ever present chair. "Where's Rodney?"

"I sent him to bed." John set his book aside. "He makes me tired just looking at him."

"He's stuck to you like glue." Elizabeth was smiling as she spoke.

John knew that and he appreciated it more than he could convey with words. "Rodney is a good friend. I wouldn't have made it through this without him."

Elizabeth closed her eyes for a moment, as if composing herself then she sighed softly. "We came too close to losing you, John. You scared me."

"I scared myself." That was a confession that was surprisingly easy to make. He looked at Elizabeth and realized that her eyes were shiny and that his own were starting to burn. Lifting one hand, he surreptitiously rubbed away the tears he wouldn't let fall.

"You're tired." Elizabeth was on her feet, eyeing him with concern.

John was tired and he figured it was okay to go along with her. "It's been a long day."

Elizabeth reached out and took his hand. She squeezed it briefly then let go. "I'll tell Carson to limit your visitors for the rest of the day. I know everyone has pretty much paraded in and out non stop since you woke up."

"It's been kinda weird." In the four days since he had been awake, John swore that every person on Atlantis and a good portion of the Athosians had come to see him. If only to pop in and say hi. And sometimes they just seemed to stand there and stare at him, like he might disappear if they blinked.

"You've made an impact on everyone, Major." Elizabeth's voice was soft and sincere. "We can't afford to lose you."

John had his doubts about that, but he offered a tired grin. "I'm not going anywhere." And he meant it.

Elizabeth looked relieved. "Get some rest. I'll come by again tomorrow." With that she was gone.

John didn't reach for his book. He was tired so he curled up on his side and closed his eyes, but he didn't fall asleep. Not until he heard Rodney slipping back into the chair. John slitted his eyes just enough to see him and smiled to himself when Rodney opened his laptop and started typing. Only then did John drift into slumber.

He was back in his room. Finally. But John felt like he didn't really belong there. He couldn't explain why he felt so unsettled, but he didn't have time to fret on it. Not ten minutes after he was put to bed by Beckett and fussed over, Rodney showed up bearing gifts. More or less.

"You hungry?" Rodney asked, as he dumped a couple of chocolate bars on the bed.

"You've been holding out," John chided him, teasingly, as he scooped one up.

Rolling his eyes, Rodney dumped the rest of his armload of things on the table in the corner.

John watched him through narrowed eyes. "Are you moving in or something?"

"Ha ha," Rodney shot back, as he grabbed a chair and hauled it over to the bed. He sat down, shuffled his feet, wrung his hands a few times, then he locked eyes with Sheppard. "Don't ever do that again!" He blurted out, and his voice was low but sharp.

"Rodney..." John began, knowing what McKay meant, but a wave of Rodney's hand silenced him.

Rodney took a moment to compose himself then he leaned forward, eyes still locked on Sheppard's face. "Where the fuck do you get off asking me to kill you? Hah? How could you ask me that?" Rodney was on his feet now, pacing, hands jerking about wildly as he rambled on. "What pisses me off the most is that you meant it? You fucking meant it!" Rodney glared at Sheppard now, the accusation in his voice clear as a bell. "You can't do that, you sonofabitch. You don't get to ask me to do that! EVER!"

John let Rodney continue. Let him get it all out. At the time he hadn't realized what he was asking, but he understood it better than anyone. Sumner had asked John to kill him, and he had done just that, shooting the Colonel in the heart. John knew that Sumner was dying but it still haunted him to this day. And he felt regret that Rodney had been subjected to those nightmares. Once he realized McKay had fallen silent and was waiting for a reply, John closed his eyes and whispered, "I was dying."

"BULLSHIT!" Rodney's voice thundered in the room. "You gave up, Major! You fucking gave up!"

"You don't understand." John was getting angry now. He yanked back the covers and slid off the bed, slapping away Rodney's hand when he felt himself sway. He simply locked his knees and glared back at McKay. "I was dying, Rodney! I could feel it! And I was tired of living like that! Get it?"

Rodney didn't back down. "No...I don't get it." His voice was hushed now and he dropped down into the chair. "All I know is that you gave up and that scared the hell out of me."

John could see that Rodney was shaking and that startled him. "Why?" he asked softly. "Why would that scare you?"

"Because you never give up, Major. Never. But you did." Rodney's voice cracked and he buried his face in his hands.

"Rodney...I...I'm sorry." John didn't know what else to say. He wasn't ready to deal with this. He didn't know if he ever would be. A part of him wanted to put everything that had happened in the past few months behind him. To just bury it in the past where it belonged. That was how John lived his life. It was how he survived. You let go of the past and kept moving forward. But he realized it wasn't something McKay was used to doing.

Rodney scrubbed at his face then looked at Sheppard. He scowled. "Sit down before you fall down." When the major just looked at him, Rodney snapped, "I'll call Beckett."

John sat down. "Rodney...you have to let it go." He had to make him understand.

"Sounds good in theory," Rodney allowed. "Not so easy to practice. You have to give me time to deal with this. You owe me."

"I know." John couldn't argue with McKay logic. Although sometimes it was fun trying. But he was too worn out to make the effort right now.

Rodney studied him. "I brought chess but we can play later."

John made a face. "I hate chess."

"You'll get over it." Rodney stood up and gathered up the candy bars. "Lie down. Take a nap." He made it an order, not a request.

"You're bossy," John groused, but he realized he was happy to stretch out. His eyes drifted closed but peeled back open when he felt the covers drawn over him. It was weird having Rodney fuss over him. It had been different before, when he was fighting the drug. Different because he had been different then. But John allowed it because it was Rodney, and because he was too tired to stop him. So he let his eyes close again and listened to the sounds Rodney made.

After a moment Rodney asked, "Need anything?"

John considered. "No," he replied, keeping his eyes closed. He expected Rodney to say goodbye and leave, but he heard more shuffling then a tapping sound and John had to open his eyes. He was surprised to see Rodney sitting at his desk working on his laptop. "What are you doing?"

"Working." Rodney made it sound like it was a stupid question.

"You don't have to stay with me." John realized what this was.

Rodney kept typing. "Yeah...I do."

And suddenly John knew he was wrong about this. About why Rodney was here.

"I need to be here right now," Rodney blurted out. As if he could read Sheppard's mind.

"I'm not going anywhere, Rodney," John whispered.

Rodney stopped typing. "Yeah...I know. But...I need to watch you breathe."

John was only now beginning to understand the hell he had put Rodney through. He felt regret for that, but he let it slide away. He couldn't change what had happened, so he would let it go. "Okay." He didn't know what else to say.

"Major." Rodney shifted in his chair and was staring at him.

"Yeah?"

A moment of silence then Rodney cleared his throat before making an offer. "If you want to talk about what happened. You know...with Kolya and all. I'll listen."

John knew what it cost Rodney to make that offer. He closed his eyes against the sudden, and surprising, sting of tears. "Maybe someday," he allowed. "But not now."

"Right." Rodney looked embarrassed and went back to typing.

"Thank you," John whispered. He wanted Rodney to know he was grateful. And maybe some day he would be able to talk about it and tell Rodney how he really felt. Maybe he would find the words to convey his gratitude. Although John wasn't sure the words existed to truly thank someone for saving your life. For dragging you out of hell over and over again. Maybe, someday, when he was able to detach himself from the reality without losing who he was again. Or maybe that day would never come. But it was enough to know that McKay would be willing to listen.

Rodney went back to typing.

John closed his eyes again. But before he drifted off to sleep he heard McKay whisper,

"You're welcome."

Then the only sound that echoed in the warm darkness, was silence.

**THE END**


End file.
